


(the past is a grotesque animal)

by bansheeteeth



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (though they're more implied less explicit), Anxiety Attacks, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, all romantic relationships arent at the forefront of the fic at all, also allusion to kasumi in ch1 but doesn't appear again so no spoilers for p5r, also theres, annshiho, btw any chapter with aforementioned content warnings will have a warning before the chapter starts, emetophobia warning, everyones gay because im gay and im not taking criticism on that, i promise it's really not as bad as the tags make it sound, if ren talks about his feelings one (1) time he WILL die, makoharu - Freeform, no beta we die like men, pegoryu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26115040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bansheeteeth/pseuds/bansheeteeth
Summary: A short silence. “...Are you okay?”Ren considers it for a second. To be honest, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about that day at all. Yeah, it majorly sucked, but it was just a few shitty hours he had to endure once and then never had to think about again. Once the bruises had vanished, bones had mended, and scars had mostly faded, he never had much cause to really reminisce about that day, nor had there seemed to be much point in it. Why spend his time dwelling on one shitty event in his past when he could focus on more important things, anyway?~A character/trauma study of November 20th, focusing on anniversaries of the day~
Relationships: Niijima Makoto/Okumura Haru, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 13
Kudos: 76





	1. November 20th, 20XX+1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sae just texted me.”
> 
> “...Okay?”
> 
> “In addition to every single one of our friends. Like, every 10 minutes.”
> 
> “And you’re telling me this because…?”
> 
> “Sojiro texted me three times today, Futaba.”
> 
> “Yikes. Okay, I understand what you’re getting at. But you can’t really blame them for being worried.”
> 
> ~cw for minor anxiety~

_Buzz._

_Greetings, Ren. I stumbled upon this fantastic blazer and you swiftly came to mind. Some might call it “funky,” no? If you need anything today, feel free to reach out._

Yusuke’s holding a cloth hoodie on a hanger up to his body, the picture angled in a way where only his chin is visible. He looks like he’s in a gift shop near the train station in Shibuya, judging by the dim lighting and English everywhere. The hoodie is obviously for children, bright yellow and splattered with green slime print and red checks. Needless to say, hideous, and obviously for 12-year old American boys.

_Buzz._

_How are your studies going, Ren-kun? I’m sure you don’t need the help, but if you would like to study together, or even just talk, I’m available for a Skype call today._

Ren’s not even halfway through his message encouraging Yusuke to buy that _absolutely stylish_ hoodie when Makoto’s contact picture pops up in the left-hand corner of his screen. Weird of her to be texting him before the end of her classes, let alone at 8 in the morning.

_Buzz._

_Your favorite customer just left, the grumpy old bastard. Matsushida-san keeps asking about you. Maybe you could come to visit sometime soon? I know you just came by a couple of months ago but--ah, whatever. Don’t be a stranger._

Ren blinks. Sojiro _never_ texts him if he can help it, preferring to just drop in during his frequent video chats with Futaba. 

Ren barely has time to be puzzled when--

_Buzz._

It’s a picture of a particularly frothy looking latte in an ornate pink cup. The foam is formed into an off-kilter leaf. Or is it a heart?

 _Getting better! :-) Thinking of you!,_ reads the caption, along with as many emojis as Haru could possibly fit into the text box. 

Okay. So this is weird.

The whole time Ren walks to Yasogami High School his phone buzzes incessantly with well-wishes and kind regards.

 _And_ all through classes.

 _And_ on the way home.

_Good afternoon, Senpai! I just wanted to check in on yo--_

_Word of advice: if you plan on attending Meiji next year, do NOT take Ishikawa-sensei’s class for literature. I hope you’re doing alri--_

_Togo-san asked how you’re doing today. Perhaps we could all go for a virtual cup of--_

_How are you doing today, Ren-kun? I just want you to know that I’m here fo--_

_Need any help with English? Missing you, loser! If you need anyth--_

_I feel like I don’t tell you enough, so I just wanted to let you know I appreciate you! Anytime you need to tal--_

_Just went on a killer run, man! Miss you a bunch, dude. Hope you’re taking care of yoursel--_

_Just had this super yummy crepe for dessert and thought of you! Love you, dude, remember you can talk to me any ti--_

_You doin’ alright, man?_

_Might close up early and relax for the evening. Maybe you should take some time for yourself, too?_

It’s when his phone buzzes with a message from Sae that Ren gets more puzzled than ever.

_Good evening, Amamiya-kun. I just wanted to check in on you and see how you’re doing today._

Sure, Ren talks to his friends plenty--when he’s not busy with school or work, he’s always making time for members of his chosen family. But this is...unusual, to say the least, especially once you throw Sae into the mix. When’s the last time she’s ever messaged him? To ask how he settled back into Inaba, maybe?

_Buzz._

_Whaddup gayboy._

_Finally_ , some semblance of normalcy.

Ren doesn’t even bother texting her back, dialing her number straight away. Futaba picks up on the second ring.

“Eager to be called slurs, I see,” she cackles. The annoyed murmuring and roaring of wind signals that she’s speaking _loudly_ on the subway. Ren makes a mental note to scold her about manners later.

“Sae just texted me.”

“...Okay?”

“In addition to every single one of our friends. Like, every 10 minutes.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“ _Sojiro_ texted me _three times_ today, Futaba.”

“Yikes. Okay, I understand what you’re getting at. But you can’t really blame them for being worried.”

Ren’s brows shoot up so fast he’s surprised they don’t fly off. “Okay, am I going fucking crazy? I don’t know what’s going on, or why everyone's--”

Futaba’s tired sigh cuts him off. “You check the date, genius?”

Ren scoffs but reaches for his bag anyways, digging through to find his worn planner.

“Scoffing at _me_? The gay baristas are _mean_ today. At least I had the decency of giving you your space. We don't have to talk about it, of course, unless you wanna."

Ren scoffs again, thumbing through the pages in the tiny book. “Talk about _what,_ Futaba? Honestly, everyone’s been so fucking strange today, and I really don’t understand why--”

Finally, he’d flipped far enough through his highlighted reminders to study for finals and landed on this week, showing the current date as--

Oh.

“The 20th, huh?”

Futaba sighs again. An automated voice booms out something about Akihabara Station and there are faint sounds of what could only be Futaba scrambling and squeezing between people to leave the subway. “You _really_ didn’t realize?”

“Had no clue.”

A short silence. “...Are you okay?”

Ren considers it for a second. To be honest, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about that day at all. Yeah, it majorly sucked, but it was just a few shitty hours he had to endure once and then never had to think about again. Once the bruises had vanished, bones had mended, and scars had mostly faded, he never had much cause to really reminisce about that day, nor had there seemed to be much point in it. Why spend his time dwelling on one shitty day in his past when he could focus on more important things, anyway?

“Honestly, it’s not something I really give a shit about,” he answers honestly, tossing his planner back into his bag and sprawling out on his comforter. “All I’ve been focusing on lately is cramming my life away and avoiding my parents.”

Which is entirely truthful. One perk of having parents who would rather pretend you don’t exist is that you get to have a _lot_ of free time with zero questioning on your activities or whereabouts, which means 2 A.M. trips to the diner to study and drown his sorrows in shit coffee weren’t all too uncommon nowadays. Turns out that spending 80% of your brainpower on the most effective ways to see your parents as little as possible didn’t exactly leave a lot of room for pearl-clutching over your past. Still though, it's pretty impressive to be living with them in a small house and not see hide or hair of each other for over two weeks, right?

“God, you and your cramming. Do you do _anything_ other than study, now?

“Community theatre, obviously,” he deadpans, not even having the energy for a good comeback. Something about this whole conversation is...particularly exhausting.

“Nerd,” Futaba grumbles. There’s a faint sound of a bell chiming and someone yelling out in greeting. “Look, dude, I don’t want to get all in your business or anything--I get how suffocating it can be for people to be hovering over you all the time. But you’re sure you’re alright?”

“ _Yes_ , you nosy gremlin, I’m fine. Look, I appreciate everyone being worried about me and stuff, but it’s really unnecessary. I was interrogated a whole year ago, and it never really upset me, anyways. So don’t worry about me, ‘kay?” Ren sounds more tired than he means to.

Futaba says nothing, seemingly weighing what the correct response would be in her head. 

Ren sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “If you drop it, I’ll Venmo you 7,000 yen so you can get that new samurai game you’ve been screeching about.”

Futaba scoffs at that, and Ren can hear the grimace in her voice. “Do you _really_ think I care more about a _game_ than my own brother’s well being?” She huffs a bit, breathing deep, counting quietly--a technique for anxiety she’d learned from Haru.

“I’m sorry.” And Ren means it--it was an asshole move.“I just know that I’m fine. I mean, isn’t me not noticing what day it is proof enough?”

Futaba sighs. “Well…”

“I promise, ‘Taba, if I start feeling weird, you’ll be the first to know.”

That, he doesn’t mean.

But what does it matter? Nothing’s going to _happen_ , anyways.

There’s silence on the other end of the line from Futaba, the only sound coming through the speaker is the whirring of whatever gadget she’s currently messing with. It’s not like her to be so quiet, especially since she _loves_ getting on his case (normally playfully, but today seems to be an exception).

“Well,” she begins, voice slow, “okay, fine. But I still expect that money since you were being a douche.”

20 minutes later and 7,000 yen poorer, Ren sends out a group text to all his friends thanking them for their not-so-subtle worry and promising them he’s completely fine, you don’t need to be concerned about me, I got _really_ cool scars from it so really it was a win, it’s not like I _actually died_ , blah, blah, blah. Most are placated enough and agree that the scar on his forearm that looks kinda-sorta like an owl _is_ pretty fucking sick, and a few even apologize for spamming him all day.

_I’m happy to hear you’re alright, Ren-kun. Apologies for any trouble we’ve ca--_

_Ren, if you’re just trying to keep this stuff to yourself I swear to god I’m going to--_

_Alright, man, just don’t forget I’m here whenever you need any--_

_Apologies for the “spamming,” as Futaba calls it. I hope you have a much more pleasant day--_

_Glad to hear you’re okay! <3 However, I’m here whenever you-- _

_Love ya, dude! We’ll be here for you anyti--_

_Excuse me, the owl has a NAME and it’s Mokomoko, you plebs--_

_Sorry for being presumptuous, we just worry is all--_

_You sure you’re alright? I don’t wanna bug ya, but I just want you to know--_

When Ren hops out his window at midnight with his schoolbag, Morgana gives him a lot less lip than normal, protesting in a way that suggests habit rather than actual ire. For once, Ren doesn’t badger Morgana to come along, either.

The thirty-minute walk feels like three and then Ren’s in his typical corner booth, sipping on a black coffee and staring intently at his math workbook.

Something’s...off, though. The lights in the diner are so, so bright, and the air is stuffy and hot despite the chill of the night _and_ the fact he’s sitting underneath a vent. The air sticks in his lungs and he has to be more mindful of his breathing, in and out, in and out. His palms are slick with sweat, and no matter how many times he wipes them on his jeans they just keep getting re-slicked. His face feels hot and his eyes feel unfocused, and he _knows_ it’s not in his head, either--his regular waiter, Uehara-kun, asks him more than once if he’s feeling alright.

An hour and a half and three mugs of black coffee later, not a single mark has been made in his workbook. Head swimming, eyes glassy, heart pounding, palms sweaty, and why can’t he do this simple fucking derivative?

Ren chalks it up to too much caffeine.

He leaves the diner before Uehara-kun can come back with his rolled omelet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't written fiction in.....upwards of five years, i think? at least since i was in high school, and it definitely shows  
> still, this is an idea that's been rolling around in my brain rot for a while now, so i figured i'd go ahead and verbalize it. it absolutely only hits the target audience of me, but i kinda missed posting fic. haven't done it since ff.net was still poppin lmao  
> ANYWAYS the whole ass thing is already written, so i'll be posting about half today and the other half later this week (this chapter is the roughest 100%, apologies to ur eyes and delicate reading sensibilities)  
> hope you enjoyed, and sorry in advance lmao  
> 


	2. November 20th, 20XX+2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Yusuke cracks open an eye, lowering his mug to rest it on the countertop. “With all seven of us bombarding your phone with well-wishes the entire day. I can only assume it was fairly upsetting. We were all quite foolish to assume you’d want to be smothered in the wake of your trauma.” He raises his mug to take a small sip, sighing into the rising steam and glancing to the stairs. There’s the faint sound of hushed bickering traveling into the cafe, though the words are near impossible to make out. “Seems like we haven’t learned much from last year, either.”
> 
> Ren...isn’t sure what to say. He stares at Yusuke closely, trying to read the other boy's expression to get some inkling of how he should be responding to this. Should he shut this shit down? Laugh it off? He’s fine, he knows he’s fine, he wouldn’t even call what happened traumatic--but convincing Yusuke of this fact is a different matter entirely.
> 
> ~cw for nightmares, needles, non-graphic violence~

“--and so I told him straight up that if he wanted me to stop playing _Animal Crossing_ in class he needed to stop teaching stuff I can Google in five minutes.”

“Shut up, Futaba, no you didn’t,” Ann chortles, legs pulled up to her chest. She’s on the floor and leaned up against the wall near Ren’s bed, right hand plundering through a bag of Hi-Chews.

“Dude, if you’d said that to Ushimaru, you’d be fuckin’ dead. Taken out with a headshot by his damn chalk,” Ryuji laughs from the bed. He rolls over onto his back to look at Futaba upside down, eyes alight in mischief. “If you actually did it, though, you’d be a fuckin’ living god.”

“Shrine worthy,” Ren agrees, nodding solemnly, only grimacing slightly when Ryuji drops his legs into Ren’s lap with a heavy _thud_. Leg rest duty, it seems.

Futaba grins, hands on her hips, completely triumphant. “Then get to worshiping, because ya girl now has a disciplinary file for that shit.”

Amidst the ensuing hollering, triumphant squeals, and "for real's," Makoto pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes tight. “Poor Boss. Is it not enough to have _one_ delinquent child, Futaba?”

“I’m _barely_ a delinquent,” Ren points out, grinning. “I only got arrested one time, and not for anything nearly as badass as telling Ushimaru he’s a little bitch. Honestly, I’m kinda jealous.”

“Actually, _you delinquent_ , you’ve been arrested twi--”

Makoto cuts herself off quickly, eyes widening. She looks anywhere but Ren as she pulls on the cuticles of her right thumb. Nervous habit. “Sorry.”

The room is very still, very silent, while Ren decides the best course of action. He’s not an idiot--he knows that the reason these four goobers rolled up to the attic at nine in the morning with breakfast, snacks, movies, and plans to hang out all day was because they were worried about him _again_. The luxury of not remembering the date had long since passed as Ren waited in anticipation for weeks beforehand to be absolutely smothered by his friends, just like last year.

At least, he’s pretty sure that’s what the anticipation was from.

Finally, Ren decides the “nonchalant” route is his best bet to show how totally, utterly, completely _fine_ he is. He cracks a lopsided grin and waves it off, ignoring a sudden wave of irritation that washes over him. Been happening a lot recently, anyways. “Don’t be. I’m the idiot who always forgets what’s on his own record.”

The air in the attic feels suddenly stuffy, even with how freezing cold it is outside. He doesn’t dare move to open the window, though.

Nobody’s really sure what to say, and the silence almost feels like it can go on eternally, but the chime of the bell downstairs and a bright, tinkling voice greeting Sojiro perks them all up. Impossibly soft steps up the stairs eventually reveal Haru, a giant, intricate basket of...something in her hands, concealing her from her stomach to top of her head. How did she even make it all the way up with that shit obstructing her sight?

“Um, Ren-kun? Sojiro told me you were in your room, so I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. I just wanted to bring you this little gift today, since I was thinking of--”

Makoto removes herself from the couch and gingerly helps Haru with the basket, placing it gently on the work table.

“Oh!” Haru exclaims, eyes widening a bit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were all here or I would’ve greeted you sooner.”

“You really came all the way up here without being able to see?” Morgana murmurs disapprovingly, although he wastes no time hopping from his perch on the windowsill to the work table to decide what exactly he was claiming for his own.

Haru just offers a little smile at that, hands clasped in front of her. “Still, I’m excited to see you all! I didn’t intend to stay long as I didn’t want to intrude, but if I had known you all were checking on him, too, I would’ve brought some goodies for everyone.”

Ann sputters on her strawberry yogurt drink, choking in a way that’s only slightly embarrassing. “C-checking? No, no, we were all just _soooo_ excited to watch…,” eyes darting around, looking for any one of the DVDs Ryuji had come armed with, “ _Pokemon 2000_ that we all decided to--”

“Ann.” Makoto pinches the bridge of her nose again, her personal favorite way to convey exasperation.

“Damn, your acting _still_ sucks ass,” Ryuji murmurs under his breath, hardly audible. He shifts to sit, pulling his legs from Ren’s lap and into a criss-cross.

Once again, nobody’s really quite sure what to say. This careful tiptoe had lasted nearly all day, but now that it’s shattered--

And the attic is still so goddamn stuffy.

“Gonna make myself some coffee,” Ren announces without even particularly meaning to, practically launching himself from the bed in an effort to get away from all of those _looks_. What was even in them? Pity? Sympathy? At least, from those who even dared to look at him at all.

It doesn’t matter. He’s already halfway down the stairs when he hears Haru’s quiet voice asking, “did I say something wrong?”

The cafe is near empty, as is typical. Kumiko-chan sits in a corner booth armed with an elementary level kanji practice book and a hot chocolate, her elementary school uniform disheveled--no doubt from running around with that dog of hers. Since when did her mom start allowing her to come to the cafe on her own, anyway? What was she, like, 8?

Sojiro’s leaned up behind the bar, nursing a cigarette and a polite conversation. He looks more friendly than normal, like he actually cares about the customer he’s talking to, and a closer glance at his young conversation partner reveals--

Yusuke?

Ren quirks a brow but rounds the bar anyways, plucking an apron from the hook on the wall. “Hey.”

Both Sojiro and Yusuke turn their heads at the sound and Ren’s greeted with a nod of acknowledgment and a warm smile, respectively.

“Greetings, Ren,” Yusuke replies, offering a small wave.

“Ditching your friends already?” Sojiro flicks the ashes of his cigarette into the tray next to him before bringing it back up for another drag. He smirks good-naturedly. “It’s your day off, kid, you don’t need to help me down here.”

“Just wanna make myself a cup. That okay?”

Sojiro glances around the nearly-empty cafe, feigning irritation. “And what about my full house of customers? Expect ‘em to wait around for you?”

Sojiro’s obviously expecting Ren to play along--they do this, like, every single day, after all--but suddenly, Ren feels so, so tired. The room still feels so stuffy and he’s finding that he’s having to breathe in more meaningfully than before. “I’ll be quick.”

Head slightly cocked, Sojiro eyes him for a second, reading him. Something Ren can't quite name flashes in his eyes for a moment--something akin to recognition, but different--but it’s gone as soon as it appears, and then Sojiro’s stubbing out his cigarette entirely. “If you’re gonna be down here, watch the shop for a minute. We need more soy milk.”

Sojiro’s out of the cafe in less than a minute, his apron discarded in favor of that goofy hat he loves so much, for whatever fucking reason. The cafe’s quiet, save for the _drip-drip_ of one of the coffee pots and the scratching of Kumiko-chan’s pencil.

Irritation alights in Ren’s stomach like a bundle of nerves, but he pushes it to the back of his mind, reaching underneath the counter to produce the funnel used for pour-overs. “Fancy seeing you here, Yusuke. You just missed Haru come up.”

Yusuke waves him away. “We arrived together, actually. I helped her select the most aesthetically pleasing basket, so she insisted I come along to give it to you.”

Ren thinks back to the ornate basket, which, albeit beautiful, looked like it contained mostly strange, assorted knick-knacks. He decides not to comment.

“Well, everyone’s upstairs if you wanna stick around. In between the awkward silences and pitiful stares, it’s actually pretty fun.” Ren can’t help the edge in his voice, words feeling like venom sliding from his throat. He turns his back to Yusuke, half in shame at his own demeanor, half because he can’t find the Kilimanjaro.

Yusuke hums thoughtfully, seemingly unperturbed. “No, that’s alright. I would hate to be a burden, especially when it seems you may prefer to be alone right now.”

As Ren brings the beans to the hand-grinder on the bar, he can’t help but shoot Yusuke a look that could kill. It lasts for less than half a second, but it’s long enough for the guilt to worm its way deep into his heart.

The cracks in his mask repair themselves almost as quickly as they had appeared and Ren offers Yusuke a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry. It’s not you.” He focuses all his attention on carefully grinding the beans, _definitely_ not trying to avoid eye contact. “I’ve just been in a weird mood lately.”

Yusuke hums again and props his chin up in his hand, eyeing Ren with his usual intensity. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m the one intruding, after all. Besides, it’s only natural to be a bit irritable when lacking rest.”

Ren cocks his head at that, hand slowing on the handle of the grinder. The two boys make brief eye contact before Ren shakes his head with finality, turning to prepare the hot water. “Didn’t realize it was so obvious,” he murmurs to himself.

There’s silence between them as Ren pulls out two plain white mugs, placing one beneath the funnel and the other to the side. A coffee filter goes into the funnel, grounds into the filter, water into the grounds--

“You were right, I haven’t been sleeping much,” Ren blurts out before he even realizes what he’s saying. His eyes widen as he hears the words leave his lips, but it’s too late to pretend it didn’t mean anything--Yusuke watches him carefully, snapped to full attention.

“Insomnia?” he questions, tilting his head.

Ren takes great pains to focus entirely on the pour-over, careful swirls of hot water slowly cascading into the grounds, foaming into light brown bubbles near the edges of the filter. He doesn’t _want_ to talk about this--his weaknesses, his defects. Something lingers from his leader-of-the-Phantom-Thieves days, something that makes him wholly resist showing anything other than carefully crafted perfection to his friends.

Well, not perfection. Just...immovability. Invulnerability. Strength. Sureness.

But Yusuke is still eyeing him closely, obviously waiting for an answer. For some reason, it feels like a line is being toed--one that Ren isn’t too keen on stepping over.

Ren sighs. Squeezes his eyes tight. “I don’t sleep a lot in general,” he answers finally.

“But less than typical, lately.” It’s not a question.

Ren keeps his eyes trained on the drip of the coffee into the mug as the water spirals slowly down the funnel. It’s steaming, and he’s suddenly overcome, again, with difficulty breathing, like the steam is licking at his lungs.

He breathes deep, willing the stickiness in his throat to dissipate. He manages a small smile--hopefully convincing. “It’s not a big deal, really. I go through phases where I sleep normally for a few weeks, and then hardly at all. Just happening ‘cause I'm stressed about finals, probably. I'm sure it’ll be over soon.”

With that, he gently places the now-full mug in front of Yusuke, who, mouth slightly agape, offers a surprised ‘thank you.’

“Perhaps it could also be because of the sheer volume of coffee you consume,” Yusuke offers, eyes twinkling and mug held delicately up to his chin. “Though I doubt that will stop you.”

Finally, Ren cracks a smile--a real one, and it almost meets his eyes, too. “Damn straight,” he laughs, placing another mug underneath the filter to prepare his own cup.

Once again the boys are silent as Ren swirls hot water into dry grounds and Yusuke gingerly sips at his own coffee, holding the warm mug between thin, spindly fingers.

The bell above the door jingles and Kumiko-chan is out in a flash, bookbag trailing behind her. A quick glance at the booth she occupied shows a pristine table, free from the typical spillings expected of a kid. Ren makes a mental note to help her with her kanji next time she’s in, when--

“Last year was quite the fiasco, no?”

Yusuke’s eyes are closed as he sips his coffee, like he’s focused entirely on the bitter taste.

Ren cocks a brow, even though Yusuke can’t see it. “Fiasco?”

Now Yusuke cracks open an eye, lowering his mug to rest it on the countertop. “With all seven of us bombarding your phone with well-wishes the entire day. I can only assume it was fairly upsetting. We were all quite foolish to assume you’d want to be smothered in the wake of your trauma.” He raises his mug to take a small sip, sighing into the rising steam and glancing to the stairs. There’s the faint sound of hushed bickering traveling into the cafe, though the words are near impossible to make out. “Seems like we haven’t learned much from last year, either.”

Ren...isn’t sure what to say. He stares at Yusuke closely, trying to read the other boy's expression to get _some_ inkling of how he should be responding to this. Should he shut this shit down? Laugh it off? He’s fine, he _knows_ he’s fine, he wouldn’t even call what happened traumatic--but convincing Yusuke of this fact is a different matter entirely.

The _drip drip_ sounds fade away, leaving a full, aromatic cup of dark Kilimanjaro. Ren takes it in hand and gulps down half in a second, ignoring the _ouch ouch ouch_ burning of his tongue in the process.

Yusuke offers a small smile. “My apologies. I don’t mean to bring up topics you may want to be left alone.” If he notices Ren's grimace he doesn't say so--just lifts his mug to his lips for the final time, draining it of all liquid before placing it gently back on the countertop with a contented sigh. “Delicious, as always.”

“Liar. I sucked at making coffee when I first started making it for you.”

Almost-black eyes twinkle back as Yusuke rises from his stool, rifling through his pockets. “Well, I certainly beg to differ,” he chuckles before producing a small, glimmering object from the depths of his slacks. “For your trouble,” he murmurs, placing a five yen coin next to the drained mug, stained light brown.

Ren scoffs, shaking his head, but Yusuke’s already moving towards the door with his bag in tow. “When have I _ever_ made you pay for coffee? The hell is this for?”

Yusuke’s already halfway out the door but turns around to offer a smile--bright, toothy, uncharacteristically large. “For luck.”

And then he’s gone, and suddenly Ren feels very, very alone.

Eventually, Sojiro returns, and the ex-Thieves excuse themselves shortly afterward, some apologizing but never naming _why_ , never uttering why they feel they must apologize at all. Ren does a very convincing act of being confused by what they mean and walks to the station with them, waving them away onto their respective trains. 

A kiss on the cheek from Ann, a friendly pat on the shoulder from Makoto, a gentle hand squeeze from Haru, a hug from Ryuji that lasts a little too long, and then they're gone.

Sleep comes fitfully that night, though it's better than the recent alternative of not coming at all. By four in the morning, Ren is finally pulled under, eyes fluttering shut with finality.

Or.

_pain, white-hot then dull and pulsing. something heavy on my chest. i can't breathe, i can't see. my ribs ache, my wrists burn. breath like razors in my lungs, hiccuping through the hole that is my throat. do i have a throat? are my lungs mine? darkness then light, fading in and out, in and out. lightheaded after a sharp pinprick in my arm, colors fading, swimming, merging, bursting with finality and terror. lined faces on all sides, taking turns with fists and feet and metal and water and needles. willing my body to move but all i do is spasm. try to hold back a scream, whimper for my parents. he hits me. he hits me. he hits me. he hits me. i cannot hit back._

Ren awakes with a terrified start, gasping for air. The bed is soaked through with cold sweat, pillows stained with tears he did not consent to shedding. Heart pounding, chest heaving, shaking with anxiety and confusion and _terror_.

Ren does not sleep for many days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies if the nightmare was uhh....incoherent. i tried to frame his nightmare after my own lil trauma nightmares (traumares?), so it probably doesn't make sense to anyone but me lmao  
> thx for reading!  
> -banshee


	3. November 20th, 20XX+3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something’s bugging Ren--an itch in the back of his brain, wanting to make his mouth move, to say something real for once, to finally, finally spill his guts, and maybe it’s just the alcohol and the lightheadedness from too much nicotine, but--
> 
> His mask cracks, if only for a moment.
> 
> ~cw for minor suicidal ideation, emetophobia, drinking to cope, minor anxiety~

“I’m gonna be 19 in, like, 3 months!”

“And yet that’s still not 20,” Makoto hums, swiftly plucking a Sapporo from the hands of a _very_ agitated Futaba.

“Come _on_ , Makoto, it’s a party!” Futaba’s orange hair glimmers under the makeshift disco ball Ann brought as she stands on her tiptoes and reaches for her bottle, held high above Makoto’s head. “We’ve done worse crimes than underage drinking.”

“And that life of crime ended almost three years ago.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Ren’s sunken into a fancy plush couch, a messy grin plastered on his face, lounging comfortably with his fourth highball of the night in hand. Or maybe his fifth? “If I remember correctly, on your 19th birthday you got absolutely zooted off Shochu and Ann had to hold your hair all ni--”

“This conversation is _so_ over,” Makoto interrupts, trying (and failing) to hide the red creeping down her neck and up her ears. Before Futaba can even attempt to snag her bottle from Makoto’s grasp, insisting _Makoto I do crime all the time I’m literally a hacker, Makoto, please, I’m already a nasty crime boy_ , Makoto whirls away, confiscated beer in hand.

Futaba just huffs, stomps her little foot on the ground like that’s gonna change anything about the situation, and falls backward into the purple plush of the couch. “Fucking nerfed by god, being born all late.”

Ren just laughs, cocking his head to look at the small girl closer. “That’s what we get for being friends with a fucking cop, sis.”

“She’s not even a cop yet, asshole,” she groans in response, hands covering her face. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I’m in mourning.”

“Not for long,” a bright voice announces behind her. Half a second later and Ryuji’s hopping over the back of the couch and plopping next to Futaba, somehow miraculously not spilling his beer in the process.

He slings his arm behind her head good-naturedly, thrusts the half-empty bottle into her hands, and grins all wide and toothy. “Don’t let our friendly neighborhood narc see you this time, ‘kay?”

Futaba sticks out her tongue, displeased. “You’re really trying to give me your warm, half-drunk beer as a consolation prize?”

Ryuji only turns a little bit red at that, quickly rescinding his arm from behind her shoulders and crossing them over his chest. “H-hey! You want the damn thing or not?”

“Oh, yeah, I do,” she assures, already sipping as discreetly as she can. She eyes Makoto, who’s engaged in what looks like a _very_ gay, _very_ poorly concealed encounter with Haru. “I just like to complain at you.”

“Asshole.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if this is some immature ploy to swap spit or pseudo-makeout or what the hell ever.”

“ _What_ are you even _saying_?!”

Ren laughs at that, cocking a brow at Ryuji. He’s feeling rather giggly, for some reason. “I’m disappointed in you, Ryu. Always thought you’d try something with me first,” he teases, waggling his brows for emphasis.

“Okay, ew,” Futaba sticks out her tongue again, directed at Ren this time.

Ryuji turns bright red, blush traveling to the tips of his ears in no time flat. “Dude, the hell? Did you just _flirt_ at me?”

Ren only laughs again, shooting him an easy smile and a thumbs up. “Have been for the past four years but thanks for noticing.”

“ _Okay, bye,_ ” Futaba all but screams, darting to the other side of the living room, apparently preferring to face the wrath of Makoto than endure Ren’s drunken nonsense.

If it’s even possible, Ryuji turns even redder, opening and closing his mouth continuously like a very cute, very flustered fish. He stutters and murmurs, dropping some _um_ ’s and _uh_ ’s here and there, all the while red as a goddamn tomato.

“Ren, what the hell did you _do_?” Ann laughs, appearing out of nowhere and slinging an arm around Ryuji’s shoulders. “Looks like you broke him.”

“More or less,” Ren smirks, and then he’s on his feet, pulling Ann to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. “Let’s leave him to reboot, yeah?”

Hours pass--or at least, what feels like hours--in a drunken whirlwind. Makoto and Haru disappear for a while, eventually returning to the kick-back giggling mischievously. After two rounds of shots, Ann’s on the phone with Shiho, crying about how much she loves her, much to Shiho’s amusement and annoyance because _Ann do you realize what fucking time it is_ (she doesn’t). Futaba makes a game of how obviously she can get plastered in Makoto’s presence without getting roundhouse kicked into the fucking sun, which Haru, for some reason, indulges by sneaking the younger girl drinks any chance she gets. Yusuke’s sat at the island in the kitchen for god knows how long, drink in hand and a blank, hazy stare on his face--his signature ‘I’m too drunk to fucking move’ look. Ryuji’s the only one mildly sober, mother-henning the whole group like he’s being paid for it.

When Ren finally starts to come down, the townhouse is quiet. Well, mostly, save for the sound of distant, violent puking coming from a bathroom down the hall. A quick scan of the room reveals Yusuke and Haru’s townhome to be less-than-pristine--spilled drinks on the floor, food left out on counters, and, of course, drunken young-adults sprawled out wherever they could get comfortable. 

Ann’s stretched out on the purple couch, sprawled in the least graceful way she could possibly manage, fishnets ripped in more than one place and drool pooling around her face like she’s not a professional hot girl. Ryuji’s coiled up tight on the other end of the couch, Ann’s head in his lap, and he has a death-grip on a trash can--presumably for the zonked out girl sprawled on top of him. 

Yusuke’s curled up in an armchair next to the couch, sleeping relatively peacefully--why he didn’t just go down the hall to his own room to pass the fuck out is anyone’s guess. Makoto’s nowhere to be seen--presumably already asleep with Haru, because there’s no way the person violently vomiting their brains out _isn’t_ Futaba.

It’s so quiet that Ren can hear his own heartbeat, and he _hates it_. The goal of getting this shitfaced was to get so drunk he would pass out into a dreamless coma for the night, but alas…

The first stirrings of panic start to whip up in the pit of his stomach, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to shove that shit all the way back down. Still, the momentary anxiety leaves him dizzy--and not just from the alcohol. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe, the townhome feeling far too fucking stuffy despite how spacious it is.

Ren’s up in a flash (from...the floor? Had he blacked out?) and makes a beeline to the patio, composing himself enough to remind himself he’s _fine_ , he just needs _air_ , if all else fails he can just get even more shitfaced so he can knock the hell out.

Throwing open the sliding door reveals the twinkling lights and bright adverts typical of a Shibuya skyline. Even though it’s--glance at his watch, holy shit, it’s 5 already--and a Wednesday, a short peek over the railing of the patio reveals a bustling city, nonetheless. Ren wonders distantly if anyone else down there is avoiding sleep tonight, too.

“Hello, there,” comes a soft voice to his left, and Ren practically jumps out of his skin. Whirling around reveals Haru perched in a patio chair in the corner, wearing the large blue sweater Makoto got her last Christmas and daintily grasping a Yebisu. Somehow, she even makes holding a beer look elegant.

Ren breathes a sigh of relief, a hand flying to his chest. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Jumpy?” she chuckles, a kind smile playing on her lips. “My apologies for frightening you, Ren-kun.”

Ren shakes his head and rummages through his pockets, searching for a very specific vice of his. “Haru, you know you don’t have to use honorifics with me.”

“Oh, but I think calling you Ren-kun is quite cute, don’t you?”

He just grins at her fondly, finally producing the carton containing his--

“I didn’t realize you were still smoking,” she says simply, taking a small sip of her beer. “I recall you telling Mako-chan you quit.”

Ren smiles apologetically at her. “You mind if I…?”

She waves him away. “Oh, go ahead. It can be our little secret.”

He leans his elbows on the railing of the patio, brings the cigarette to his lips, lights with his fucked up Zippo, and breathes in deep. “Started when I moved back to my hometown. Missed the smell that was always in the cafe, I guess.” He sighs, smoke lazily pooling out between his lips. “I _do_ intend on quitting, though.”

“Have you gone back to your hometown lately?”

Ren laughs at that. “Hell no. Never again, if I can help it.”

“I assume you haven’t spoken to your parents lately, either?”

Ren glances at her. She’s being more forward than she normally is--not that he minds particularly, but it’s slightly out of character for her to press an issue that may become uncomfortable. 

Then he remembers the beer in her hand, and how over the past few hours Haru had somehow gone harder than anyone else and yet held her shit down better than anyone else, too. He shudders. If he didn’t know her like the back of his hand by now, he might even be a little intimidated.

He sighs deeply before taking another drag, letting the silence between them permeate. It’s not uncomfortable--it never is with Haru. She just watches him, occasionally nursing her Yebisu and settling deeper into that giant sweater of hers.

“Haven’t,” he finally confirms, mussing his hair in the back. “Not since I moved back here.” Pause. “I mean, not even really since I got arrested, to be honest. Even when I went back to my hometown I think we maybe said less than three sentences to each other the whole year.”

Haru hums. “That may be for the best. Sometimes, rebuilding a relationship with your parents will only cause more pain, especially if they do not consider your best interests.”

Ren turns his head and meets her eyes. In some ways, talking to Haru is like looking in a mirror--a much richer, well-bred, successful mirror. He takes another drag from his cigarette. “You always give good advice.”

She beams at him--sloppier than normal due to being inebriated. “Thank you. I try.”

They’re silent for a while, soaking up the early-morning November chill. White puffs slip from both their mouths--Ren’s from smoking, Haru’s just from breathing in the cold air--and Ren _almost_ forgets why he needed to come out to the patio in the first place.

Haru’s the first to break the silence. “Why did you want to throw a party tonight, Ren-kun?”

He flicks his eyes towards her for only a second before stubbing out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot and pulling another out of the carton. He lights, inhales, holds, exhales.

“Just been a while since we did this, right?” he answers finally. “Thanks for hosting, by the way. I’ll have to get you and Yusuke an Edible Arrangement or something.”

She giggles a little at that, punctuated at the end by a small hiccup. “That’s really not necessary. When we decided to become roommates, we both realized we love to host for our friends. So really, thank you for being the first to allow us to do so!”

“But that’s not the answer you wanted, right?” 

Ren blurts it out without even thinking, immediately mentally cursing himself for being such a big-mouthed idiot. Here he was, talking to one of his only friends who wouldn’t pry, and completely self-sabotaging by bringing this shit up.

There’s a lengthy pause as Haru just watches him, expression unchanging.“No, it’s not,” she eventually confirms, taking another sip from her beer and tilting her head. “We don’t have to talk about it. I was just curious on why you suggested this date to throw a party.”

Ren isn't quite sure how to approach this. On one hand, he really, _really_ has no desire to talk about this shit. If he did, everyone would make a much bigger deal out of it than it actually is. They would worry, they would suffocate, they would hover, they would pity and sympathize and--

But on the other hand, he'd really brought it on himself this time, hadn't he? It almost didn't feel fair to brush Haru off now.

"I picked today," he begins slowly, choosing his words carefully, "because I'd prefer not to sleep."

And it's the truth, though maybe not all of it. Ever since last year, nightmares had become all too common in Ren's life, but they’d become exceptionally bad once November had begun. He's sure it’s not too hard to tell, either--Ren knows there have been dark circles around his eyes for months, only getting deeper in color over the past few weeks. He's also thinner than before with a noticeable lack of appetite that almost all his friends had commented on. Plus his irritability and general jumpiness over the past month weren't exactly subtle, either.

Haru hums again. "I can understand that. I sometimes avoid sleep, myself, around the anniversary of my father's death. It's not something to be ashamed of."

For a moment Ren wonders if she has nightmares about the moment her dad died, but pushes it away as fast as humanly possible and takes another drag. Even though he _knows_ they aren’t the ones who killed him, Ren could never shake the heaviness in his heart from the matter, the heaviness of _responsibility_ , like _he’d_ been the one to put the gun against Okumura’s head and pull the fucking trigger.

“I just thought that if I got shitfaced enough I either wouldn’t sleep, or blackout hard enough to not dream,” he admits. He’s still leaned against the railing of the patio and takes a peek down. Haru and Yusuke live on the 26th floor of their highrise, paid for graciously by Haru’s company. Ren wonders distantly how long it would take to hit the ground if someone were to jump from this high. Would they feel a thing? Would there be that stomach-dropping feeling like on a rollercoaster? Would they be dead before they even hit the ground?

“You don’t seem very inebriated now, though.”

“No, I am,” he clarifies, the smallest of smiles playing upon his lips. “Should have seen me earlier though, I was fucking zooted.” Haru’s tinkling laugh punctuates the end of his sentence and Ren scratches the back of his neck, suddenly a bit sheepish. “I think I flirted _really_ blatantly with Ryuji, though, so that’s gonna be a shitshow to deal with, I’m sure.”

Haru only laughs again, curling up in her chair a bit tighter. “You’ve been so blatant for years, though! I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t catch on again.”

Ren thinks back to Ryuji’s beet-red face and hopeless stammering. “No, he definitely noticed this time.”

“Well, that may be for the best,” she smiles, eyes crinkling with only a little bit of mischief. “Your flirting has gone over his head for far too long, now. Perhaps something can finally come of it.”

Ren scoffs at that, shaking his head. “Unlikely; he’s the token straight in our friend group, after all.”

Her eyes sparkle knowingly. “Oh, so he _hasn’t_ talked to you about questioning? You’d be the only one.”

Ren laughs slightly before taking another drag. “Okay, don’t be mean and lie to me about that. Don’t wanna get my hopes up and shit.”

She does an excellent job of looking mock-offended. “I would _never_ lie about something as important as bi-curiosity, Ren-kun.”

They both laugh--Ren a bit nervously because _holy shit is she for real, I can never tell_ \--and then there’s silence between the two, the only sound coming from the honking of car horns on the street far below. 

Something’s bugging Ren--an itch in the back of his brain, wanting to make his mouth move, to say something _real_ for once, to finally, finally spill his guts, and maybe it’s just the alcohol and the lightheadedness from too much nicotine, but--

His mask cracks, if only for a moment.

“This is the first time I’ve enjoyed myself all month. Been too anxious to leave the house much.”

Haru says nothing, just watches him, bottle held in between long, thin fingers. Deja vu strikes Ren--this feels too similar to his conversation with Yusuke last year.

She’s still just watching him, waiting for him to say something else, so he sighs, takes another drag, steels himself. “Haven’t been eating or sleeping, either, but I’m sure you already know that. Too many nightmares. But, hey,” he says in a tone that could almost sound joking if not for the strain in his throat, “at least not eating and sleeping makes it _really_ easy to get _really_ drunk _really_ fast.”

Haru won’t be distracted, though. “Nightmares about that day?”

No escaping this mess he put himself in, huh? “...Yeah.”

“Would you like to talk about that day? Or your nightmares?”

Ren thinks for a minute. This is the most he’s ever brought up his feelings on the matter, or his reactions to that day, _ever_. He already feels like he needs to retreat back into himself, to repair the mask he’s crafted so carefully ever since his first arrest, to not show any vulnerability to his family, these people who rely on him.

But do they anymore? The metaverse is long gone, and his status as leader long since abandoned. Does he really have to be so immovable anymore? Life or death situations no longer plague their everyday lives, and arrest or execution are no longer the consequences of being soft and open. Now, only humiliation and pity threaten to pounce the moment he admits his own anxieties, his own terror.

“No,” he finally answers, “I wouldn't.”

A mix of disappointment and concern flashes in Haru’s eyes, but only for a second. Then she offers him a small smile. “I understand.” And then, as if reading his thoughts, “I’ll keep this conversation between us. Promise.”

A pang of guilt hits Ren smack in his gut and he can’t bear to look at her, turning his head to look in the other corner of the patio as if there’s anything to look at at all. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need for an apology,” she smiles, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes. She pats the chair next to her. “Why don’t you come sit? I can’t sleep, myself, so I don’t mind staying up with you.”

Ren steels himself to glance back at her. She’s smiling, bright and open, extending her hand to him. Another pang of guilt courses through him, but the alcohol in his veins allows him to ignore it this time. Instead, he takes her hand and allows himself to be dragged into the seat next to her.

They’re silent like that for a while, holding hands and gazing out into the bright skyline of Shibuya. Despite the guilt, despite the anxiety, and despite the repairs being made to Ren’s facade, there’s comfort in this moment, with Haru running a thumb along the top of his hand and sipping her beer. Her hand is warm and soft despite the chill of the night air, sweater paws only a little bit scratchy. Comforting, like homemade soup when you're sick, or the warmth of entering a cafe from a cold winter night.

“I’m always here for you, Ren-kun.”

This time, the guilt’s stronger than ever before. He just looks at her and tries to give her a convincing smile.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an agenda and it's called 'yusuke and haru both have expensive, eccentric taste and would make wonderful roommates since haru wouldn't mind paying for everything,' and i have to subject other people to it or i WILL die  
> last chapter posted for the night, the next 4 will prob be posted in a week or less??? all on the same day bc what the fuck is a 'regular uplaod schedule,' i don't know her


	4. November 20th, 20XX+4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The realization hits him all at once, barreling through his chest like a fucking freight train--he’s really, really not okay.
> 
> ~cw for graphic description of a panic attack, emetophobia, non-graphic description of violence, flashbacks, minor suicidal ideation~

It’s 3AM, November 20th, and Ren is hunched over the toilet in Ryuji’s apartment, attempting to die as quietly as possible.

His nightclothes are soaked completely through with cold sweat and he can’t _breathe_. Even as he’s vomiting his guts up, his breath won’t come to him at all, and all at once he’s hyperventilating, clutching his heart like it’s going to burst out of his chest.

_sharp pain in my ribs, steel toes digging in between the bones. a crack. then two. pinprick in my arm and everything’s hazy, hazy. tugging, biting metal digging into the flesh of my wrists. dragged, thrown, dragged and thrown some more. sneering faces promising my death. no voice to protest, only to sigh and whimper and cough and gurgle and never, ever scream. waiting for a bullet in my head._

The nightmares had been worse and worse the past few weeks, but never like _this_. Never with actual feeling, actual smells, actual impact of a fist to his cheek, and never following him out of sleep, either.

And then Ren’s gagging again, but there’s nothing else that can come up so he chokes on air that refuses to bury itself in his lungs, coughing, wheezing, pleading. He’s scratching at the white linoleum tile so hard he _knows_ he’s bleeding, but he can’t care, he won’t care, because he knows without a doubt that he’s absolutely, positively dying.

He’s so panicked he can barely see, and he has the thought that maybe he should wake Ryuji to take him to the hospital, but _no._ This relationship is still new, barely 4 months old, and there’s no way Ren’s going to allow Ryuji to see him like _this._ Weak, broken, covered in sweat and vomit and--

Another burst of white-hot terror rushes through his veins and Ren’s clutching the toilet seat like it’s a life raft, using the last vestiges of rational thought he has to will air into his lungs, if only so his vision stops fading in and out.

_boot crushing my head, vision swimming, arms tingling, ribs aching. another pinprick and my skin is on fire, scorching, burning, and i’m dying, i know i’m dying, i know i’m dead already. lifted by the collar and thrown into a chair and then i’m alone and it’s worse, somehow, so much worse. waiting, waiting, consciousness slipping in and out, but the pain is still there, white-hot, throbbing, pulsing like a knife between the ribs, and i can’t breathe, i’m choking, i’m dying, i’m--_

“Woah, hey, I got you.”

Strong arms wrap around Ren and he _fights_ , weak though he is from lack of oxygen and panic. He tries to push himself away, to kick and untangle himself, but then he’s just held tighter.

“Ren, it’s me. It’s me. _It’s me_.”

Panic slowly begins to subside when Ren realizes how _familiar_ those arms are, how he knows this voice.

“Ryuji, get out.” He sounds pathetic and he knows it, but he still can’t breathe, still can’t see straight, clawing at Ryuji to _let him go_.

“Not leaving you like this,” Ryuji murmurs back, and then he sits back to lean against the wall, pulling Ren back in between his legs and wraps an arm around his waist. “Just breathe.”

Ren doesn’t even remember what it’s like to ‘just breathe,’ and the thought sends him spiraling again, clutching at his chest and throat and gasping for air--

“Breathe, Ren. Follow me. In,” and he takes a deep breath in, holding it deep in his lungs, before, “then out.”

And then Ryuji’s rubbing his back, encouraging Ren to follow the pattern he’s setting. Ren gasps a few more times but complies to the best of his ability, bringing in short, wheezy puffs of air that could hardly pass as breathing.

“Doing good,” Ryuji murmurs. “In and out, just like this.”

Ren’s not doing good and he knows it, but the attempt is making the edges of his vision a bit less fuzzy, his body a little less tingly and numb. He keeps trying, pitiful gasps barely moving past his throat, his mouth like cotton and blood and metal and fists and broken teeth and--

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Ren hadn’t realized he’d started hyperventilating again until Ryuji’s gripping his waist with more force, grounding him to the here and now. “I got you, it’s okay.”

The pressure on his side reminds him where he is and then Ren’s trying to breathe again, just like Ryuji’s showing him. In, out. In, out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Wheeze. Gasp. In, out. Gurgle. Wheeze. In, out. Hyperventilate. Hyperventilate. Wheeze. In, out. In, out. In, hold, out.

It’s impossible to tell how long they’re on the floor like that, Ren clawing at his chest and throat, desperately trying to force air into his lungs. All the while Ryuji just holds him, coaches him, comforts him. It could be minutes, it could be hours, but by the time Ren’s breathing is approaching anywhere near a normal pace, he’s sweat through his nightclothes two-fold, the back of his shirt sticking to the front of Ryuji’s.

“‘M dying,” Ren gasps out. He’s pressed himself fully against Ryuji’s chest, the bottom of his own shirt twisted around in his grip, acting as a makeshift stressball.

“You’re not dyin’,” Ryuji reassures. He’s rocking them back and forth now, to the best of his ability in such an awkward position. “You’re panicking. Just keep breathing, you’re almost there.”

And so he does. His heart’s racing a mile a minute and his thoughts are going even faster, but Ren does what Ryuji asks of him, willing his constricting throat to slow down and allow him to suck in enough air to stay fucking conscious.

It works, eventually.

Ren’s breathing quiets down from a ragged tear in his throat to a deep, unsteady inhale. In, wheeze, hold, out. In, wheeze, hold, out.

“You’re doing great, Ren.” Ryuji turned him around at some point through all this and he’s stroking Ren’s cheeks, wiping away--tears? When had he started crying? “I got you.”

Ren just sucks in a shaky breath in response, fingers clenched on Ryuji’s thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Ryuji doesn’t seem to mind--he just keeps murmuring small encouragements, brushing Ren’s sweat-slicked hair from his eyes and wiping away the tears still trailing down his reddened cheeks.

“‘M sorry,” Ren hiccups, and his face feels so, so wet.

Ryuji looks almost sad for a second. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for.” And then he pulls Ren into the crook of his neck, one hand instantly going to rub circles on his back and his own face burying itself in Ren’s hair. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

Ren feels like he can break down just from hearing that. It’s not Ryuji’s _job_ to do this shit, and the guilt already worming its way into the pit of his stomach is proof enough.

“‘M sorry,” he says again, but he’s only met with a _shh_ from Ryuji, who at this point is wrapped around him like a vice, rocking him, rubbing his back, stroking his hair, kissing the top of his head.

Eventually, Ren’s breathing returns to normal--unsteady inhales give way to stable (but labored) breaths. Those eventually transform into quieter, softer gasps of air, leaving Ren breathing like a normal human person. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

They’re quiet for a long time, just wrapped up in each other like that. 

Now that Ren’s no longer scrambling he can take stock of his surroundings, and they don’t tell a pretty story. He’d sweat through his own shirt and all the way through the fabric of Ryuji’s. His hair is tangled and wet from sweat, mussed in ways he never really thought possible. A rancid smell hangs in the air and his mouth that can only be vomit, and turning his head slightly reveals bloody scratch marks staining the bathroom tile.

The realization hits him all at once, barreling through his chest like a fucking freight train--he’s really, _really_ not okay.

He’s been denying it for so long, pushing everything as deep as he can possibly manage, but he just _can’t_ anymore. It doesn’t even feel possible to pretend like he’s okay, at this point. It almost makes him laugh, realizing how obvious it’s been this whole time to everyone except himself.

_I’m not sleeping or eating, and I watch my back the entire month of November like I’m on the fucking run, but don’t worry about it, guys! Totally fine over here, waking up every night drenched in fucking sweat from nightmares. Totally fine over here, dropping weight like it’s a bad fucking habit because I can barely keep anything down. Totally fine over here, never leaving the house unless I absolutely have to and jumping out of my damn bones when I do. Totally cool, totally fine, just dandy._

He can’t hide anymore, no matter how bad he wants to.

And suddenly Ren feels so, so tired.

“I’m really struggling.” It’s the first full, clear-headed sentence he’s uttered since he woke up from his nightmare, and those simple words are enough to cause tears to prick his eyes. “I tried to be okay for so long, but--”

“I know, babe." Ryuji just rubs his back and plants another soft kiss on the crown of his head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it in anymore. There’s nothin’ wrong with talking about it.”

“But I need to be strong for everybody,” and Ren’s voice sounds so, so small. He’s clutching onto Ryuji’s shirt like a child, not even realizing the irony of the situation. “They need me to be.”

“No, we need you to be healthy and happy and to take care of yourself. _I_ need you to.” Ryuji pulls Ren back by his shoulders and eyes him carefully. “We’re not the Thieves anymore. We’re family, and family’s always there for each other. Including you.”

Not for the first time, Ren feels guilt. It’s different this time, though. It’s duller, squirmier, and wholly unfamiliar.

“You don’t have to carry this shit on your own anymore, Ren.”

The tears that have been pricking his eyes finally spill over and Ryuji wipes them away with an already tear-soaked thumb. Ren tries to remember the last time he’s been so exposed, felt so fucking vulnerable, so _raw_ in the eyes of another person. Not a single instance comes to mind, and the thought only pushes more tears from his eyes.

“C’mon,” Ryuji murmurs, pulling them both up onto their knees. “Let's get you clean and back to bed.”

Even if he wanted to protest, Ren wouldn’t be able to find the energy within him to do so. Instead, he’s like a doll, unmoving, as Ryuji gently removes his sweat-slicked clothes and draws him a bath.

“Your mom.” It takes a surprising amount of energy to utter those two simple words, but Ryuji waves him away.

“She works so much, when she’s home she sleeps like a fuckin’ long. Sound of the bath won’t bug her, promise.”

And then Ryuji’s helping him step into the tub, guiding him to sit in the middle. The water’s only a little too hot, and Ren doesn’t have the will to tease him for making his bath old-man-temperature. 

Before Ren can even fully adjust to his new surroundings, Ryuji’s already cupping water in his hands and pouring it on Ren’s head, presumably to wash his _very_ disgustingly sweaty hair. Ryuji’s fully focused on his task, his tongue sticking out a little as he tries his best to get the hard-to-reach places underneath all the tangles and thickness and muck.

Even though he’s not looking at Ren with those _eyes_ \--filled with pity, sympathy, worry--Ren still feels so fucking exposed, like a part of him that was never meant to see the light of day was dragged from the shadows, kicking and screaming. It’s ugly, it’s rotten, and _Ryuji shouldn't see him like this_.

But any protests Ren wants to make die on his lips, because his throat is so fucking _sore_ and raw, and his brain feels like it’s full of static, and all he can really do is whine when Ryuji accidentally gets soap in his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?”

The words startle Ren. Their silence had gone on for so long that he’d begun to drift far, far away from the here and now. “Uh.”

Ryuji tears his eyes away from his task of rinsing Ren of soap and suds and watches him carefully, but with an intensity that vaguely reminds Ren of Skull. It’s the same look he would make after a particularly tough battle and someone inevitably got injured. One of determination and worry, but with a particularly Ryuji undercurrent of _I’m not good enough help, but I’ll fucking try_.

But healing spells only exist in the metaverse, and Skull’d never been able to cast them, anyways.

“I don’t know what good it’ll do,” Ren finally answers, and his voice sounds rough and choppy, his throat raw from hyperventilating.

Ryuji almost looks like he wants to argue, but in the end says nothing at all. He simply nods, lips pursed, and returns to the task at hand, running his fingers through Ren’s messy curls to make sure all the shampoo’d come out.

“Not sure if I ever told you,” he begins, hands still working their way through Ren’s hair, “but I get pretty shitty nightmares, too.”

If Ren had more energy he’d cock a brow, but instead he just lifts his eyes, hoping it’s encouragement enough for Ryuji to continue. “Yeah?”

“‘Bout different stuff, usually.” Ryuji shakes his head at that. “Well, that’s not really true. Only a few things, I guess.” 

Ren just watches Ryuji, not sure if he should press the issue. Sure, he never wants to talk about his _own_ fucked up brain, but Ryuji brought this up himself. It should be fine, right?

“Like what?” he finally murmurs, because speaking at a normal volume hurts so fucking bad he could tear his own throat out.

Ryuji just shrugs. “What you’d expect. My pops gettin’ drunk and hittin’ me and mom. Kamoshida and his fucking bat.” He hesitates for just a second, hands slowing, but pushes forward nonetheless. “Sometimes about almost dyin’ in Shido’s palace. Or when we all faded away in Shibuya. Those not so much, though.”

Nightmares about Ryuji’s “death” and the Thieves being blinked out from existence were not all too uncommon for Ren to have, either. Maybe once a month he’d be awoken, startled and sweating, from the image of Skull’s ascot waving away on an industrial crane, lonesome, before going up in the fires of a fate-sealing explosion. It’s always enough to keep Ren awake for a few hours afterward.

But it’s never, ever like _these_ nightmares.

“I didn’t know,” is all Ren can manage to say, and for some reason he feels absolutely fucking terrible. “I’m sorry.”

Ryuji just gives him a little smile. “The hell you got to be sorry for, man? Not your fault my head likes to fuck with me sometimes.”

_But I could’ve protected you._

Not from his dad, and not from Kamoshida, but from everything else? Doesn’t that fall square on Ren’s shoulders?

“I wish I could take that from you.”

Ryuji just cocks his head, half-brows knitting together. “Eh?”

“All that hurt.” Tears prick Ren’s eyes again, and god, why is he so fucking _emotional_ tonight? He doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore--he’s so fucking exhausted and his brain feels like cotton. He scrubs his eyes as fast as possible to wipe away the tears, trying to pull it off as being tired instead. “I just wish I could take it on for you. You don’t deserve that.”

_Most of it’s my fault, anyway._

All at once Ryuji’s face softens and he’s pulling Ren into his arms.

“Ryu, your shirt’s gonna get--”

“Quit bein’ such an idiot,” and Ryuji almost sounds like he could cry, too. “You don’t deserve to carry any of the shit you’re carrying, either. Why don’t you get that?”

A string in Ren’s heart goes taut, stretching and stretching so tight his chest aches. It wobbles at the same cadence as Ryuji’s voice and Ren can only pray it doesn’t snap, because when it does, he has no fucking clue what’ll happen. 

Moreover, he’s not sure he’ll be able to come back from it.

Eventually Ryuji pulls away, wipes the tears pricking his own eyes, and leaves to bring Ren a change of clothes. He comes back armed with a comfy pair of sweats, a T-shirt advertising a beef bowl shop near Odaiba, and a water bottle. 

It’s all a vague blur: Ryuji helping Ren out of the tub, Ren’s shaking legs threatening to upend him at any moment--Ryuji drying off and dressing him, moving Ren about like a porcelain doll-- handing Ren the water bottle and commanding he drink, but not before rinsing his mouth of the stale, sick taste that still lingers on his tongue--taking Ren’s hand and guiding him back to his bedroom, encouraging him to _sleep, go back to sleep, I’m right here_.

Ren’s head is buried in Ryuji's chest, knuckles white from gripping Ryuji’s tank top so hard. Ryuji’s drawing circles on his back with one hand, the other coursing through his wet hair, bidding him _you can sleep, babe, I’m gonna be here, I promise._

“Can’t,” is all Ren can say, voice muffled. His eyes are heavy and his head feels hazy and his whole body feels weak and the string in his heart is still making his chest ache and _I wish I would’ve just died in that interrogation room_. “I know it’s gonna happen again, so I can’t. I’m too sca--”

The string wobbles dangerously and Ren snaps his mouth shut. A moment stretches into two, then three, then four, and Ren can tell Ryuji’s holding his breath, too.

“It won’t be good,” he finally decides on, voice wobblier than he means it to be.

Ryuji’s chest heaves under Ren’s forehead in a deep sigh. “I know you are.”

And Ren doesn’t have to ask _what_ he knows Ren is, because Ryuji’s not stupid, and Ren’s starting to realize that he’s not as good at hiding as he thought he was. His mask used to be so solid, so stable, so carefully crafted, but it’s degraded to nothing more than protests and refusal of admission, and Ren fucking _hates it_.

The string wavers, grows tight, aches and aches.

Finally Ryuji sighs again, bringing Ren impossibly closer. “If you don’t want to sleep, I’ll stay up with you. If you _do_ end up falling asleep, I’ll stay up and watch you to make sure you’re okay. Sound good?”

Ren hesitates, guilt already bubbling in his stomach. “But your classes--”

“Are bullshit. Only got Fukui-sensei on Thursdays and he’s an asshole, anyways.” He plants a soft kiss on the top of Ren’s head, nuzzling his nose there. “Rather spend the day makin’ sure you’re okay. Can’t just leave you like this.”

And that makes the guilt well up in full, now. It runs so deep, so hot, and so _familiar_ that Ren feels like he can fucking scream.

But Ren’s fucked up feelings on being helped isn't Ryuji’s problem, he doesn’t _want it_ to be Ryuji’s problem. Ryuji’s already seen more of Ren than he ever wanted to show, taken on more in the past hour than anyone ever has before. Saying he doesn’t need or want the help, or that being pitied is his worst fear, or that he hates this vulnerability--it’d just be one more thing Ren drops on him, and he won’t allow it, he _can’t_ allow it, because--

_Hey, I know we just started dating after I’ve been in love with you for five years, but do you mind if I drop all my baggage on you? Also, you can’t try to help me or do anything about it at all or I’ll freak the hell out. Oh, wait, don’t run away, where are you going?_

Yeah right. Ha ha fucking ha.

So instead Ren just nods into Ryuji’s chest, ignoring the tightness in his own chest, ignoring how the string in his heart vibrates like it’s a shamisen being plucked by the worlds’ shittiest player.

“Okay.”

Ren finally drifts into a fitful sleep at 6, fighting his own eyelids until they clamp shut without his consent.

Ryuji keeps his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello gays :-)  
> i based the panic attack/flashback off of how my panic attacks/flashbacks typically work, so apologies if they're incomprehensible or just stupid as all fuck  
> this chapter's one of the heavier ones, so if it was unpleasant to read bc of that ur in the clear for the most part


	5. November 20th, 20XX+5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann scoots a bit closer to him, gripping his hand tighter. She watches him carefully, like he might shatter if she looks at him with too much scrutiny, and he fucking hates how weak he feels. “It’s like pulling teeth getting you to talk about your feelings, isn’t it?”
> 
> ~cw for minor anxiety, major suicidal ideation~

Ren looks like shit.

He knows he looks like shit--knows he probably smells like it, too, considering he hasn’t changed out of his pajamas in three days--but it’s so fucking hard to _care_.

His surroundings aren’t looking any better. The attic is almost completely pitch dark, save for the flashing blue lights emitting from the muted TV, dancing along the walls and casting the room in a sickly white glow. The blinds are drawn tight, so tight no sunlight can peak through. Half-eaten bags of junk food litter the attic floor, along with bottles of water barely touched, despite the insistence of his friends. Clothes lay strewn near the laundry basket, heaping into a pile so big Morgana could suffocate in it.

And then there’s Ren himself.

He’s been in the same position for so long his legs ache--sitting on the bed, knees to his chest, back pressed firmly into the corner of the wall so he can keep watch on all of his surroundings. He’s wrapped in a cocoon of comforter and sheets and sweat, the only things visible from the mass of fabric being his rats nest attempting to pass for hair and the glint of his glasses.

Futaba’s sitting on the other end of his bed, laptop resting on her knees as she’s typing away. Ren’s not sure how long she’s been here this time--since this morning? (Is it still morning? Is it still today?) Either way, she’s here more often than not, nestled in her own little corner of Ren’s depression nest.

In some ways he’s thankful for the company--nobody understands _this_ better than her, after all. And at least he never falls asleep when someone else is up here with him.

On the other hand--

_Now they all know how weak you are. How fucked up you are. Good fucking job._

There’s a distinctive squeak--the sound of the too-loud stair second from the top--and then Ann and Ryuji are in the attic, too, arms laden with plastic bags.

They don’t look surprised at the state of the place anymore when they come up, not like when November first began. Now Ryuji just crosses the minefield that is Ren’s room completely unfazed, offers a _hey, Futaba_ , and plants a small kiss on Ren’s forehead.

He can only imagine how disgusting it tastes.

“Yo,” Futaba greets, patting her laptop closed.

Ren just offers a flimsy peace sign and a weak smile.

“We come bearing gifts,” Ann announces, hoisting the bags still on her arms before placing them carefully on the couch. “Got a few movies, a video game, some manga, and some food for you.”

“And for--”

“ _Yes_ , for you, too, Futaba.” Ann slides a few containers out of one of the bags, presenting them proudly. “We grabbed some sushi on the way here.”

“Morgana’s gonna be _so_ mad he’s not here for this,” Futaba says, _heh-heh-heh_ -ing her way to the couch to get first pick.

“How long you been here?” Ryuji asks. He slings an arm around Ren’s shoulders, pulling the mound of linens that used to be his boyfriend to rest in the crook of his neck.

“Uhrm…” Futaba begins. She’s already popped open one of the plastic containers and is steadily chewing on what looks like a tuna roll. “Mahbe ah vew ours?”

“How’s he been today?”

Futaba swallows thickly, pointing her finger out like she’s about to drop the report of the century. “Hasn’t eaten or slept since I’ve been here. Got up to pee once, but immediately went back into his pillow fort or whatever. Mostly he’s just been staring out into space with that gay little look on his face.”

“I’m _right here_ ,” Ren huffs, but his throat aches from disuse, so it sounds pathetic and scratchy. “Can’t just talk about me like I’m not in the room. It’s not like I’m fucking catatonic or something.”

...Right now, anyways.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ryuji murmurs, taking his unoccupied hand and fidgeting with the knee of his bad leg. Nervous habit.

“S’rry,” Futaba tries to get out, but she’s already got another piece of sushi in her mouth. “G’nna gow I fink.” She swallows. “Since you guys are here now.”

And then she’s flying down the stairs with her stolen sushi platter in hand, her _heh-heh_ ’s and _nyeh-hah_ ’s and _be back in a few hours_ ' echoing up the stairs and surely disturbing at least a few of Sojiro’s customers, if there’s any at all.

Then Ann’s wrinkling her nose a bit as she unpacks the rest of the bags, pulling out shitty yakuza films and all of Ryuji’s favorite manga he insisted on bringing Ren, the fact they’ve already read them a million times together be damned. “Hey, Ren?”

She gets a half-hearted _hmph_ in response and takes it as a sign to continue. “I’m not trying to be rude, but when’s the last time you changed your clothes or showered? You’ve kinda been wearing the same sweats for the past few days.”

“You can’t even see what I’m wearing under my comforter.”

She turns a bit, smiling apologetically. "I know what depression clothes smell like, Ren."

If Ren had more energy he’d be utterly embarrassed, but it’s been _so hard_ to care about anything lately. Instead he just offers a shrug. “No clean clothes.”

Ryuji untangles himself from Ren and crosses the room to inspect the pile of laundry on the floor as if it’s an unknown species. He whistles. “ _Yeah_ , I can see why. That’s a shitload of laundry. You’re usually so diligent about keepin’ up with this shit.”

The edge of concern in Ryuji's voice is apparent--he's always been too honest for his own good. 

Ren sighs. “Haven’t been able to go to the laundromat.”

_I’ve been too afraid to go outside._

Ann and Ryuji share a less-than-subtle glance and Ren curses himself. This habit, this _compulsion_ to deflect and lie and pretend pretend pretend--what’s even the point? Who’s he even trying to convince anymore? Himself? Because that ship fucking _sailed_ last year, whether he wants to admit it or not.

It’s not like his friends can’t see right through his mask, anyways. Hell, he’s not even sure he has a mask anymore or if he’s just pantomiming.

Ryuji starts to gather all the clothes and dumps them in the laundry basket. “Gonna go wash these for you. Then we’ll get you to the bathhouse.”

There’s that guilt again. It’s duller than usual, though--when you feel enough guilt, shit starts to almost feel normal.

Keyword being _almost_. Anytime Haru brings him a far-too-expensive meal and insists he eat, ultimately resulting in vomiting her kindness up into Leblanc’s bathroom, the guilt hits harder than ever. Or when Makoto hunkers over his desk and does his homework for him, emailing his professors to excuse his absence due to a stomach bug. Or when Yusuke just perches on the bed next to Ren, sketching Tokyo and the metaverse and their family over and over again, insisting _depression is an ugly thing, but allow me to leave you with a bit of beauty_. Or when Futaba sits with him for days on end, not saying much of anything, except _because I’ve been there before_ when Ren asks her _why are you staying here with me_.

“--ack in an hour or something.” 

Ren blinks. Didn’t even realize he’d been so zoned out, so in his own world.

Been happening a lot lately.

Ryuji shoots Ren a grin as he pads down the stairs, laundry basket in tow. As soon as he descends far enough to disappear from view, there’s the unmistakable sound of thumping, thudding, tumbling, and the hurried apologies that come with it. _Oh, Boss, God, I’m so sorry!_

Ann raises an eyebrow, watches Ren close. “Your boyfriend’s an idiot.”

Ren just offers a weak smile in response. “Love him so much.”

She crosses the room and motions to the spot next to him in that _can I sit?_ way. Ren just gives a weak nod--everything about his motions is weak, languid, slow, slow, slow--and she obliges, practically falling into place next to him and leaning comfortably against the wall.

“Mind if I open the blinds a bit?”

Ren winces. “Uh.”

“A little sun might be good for you.”

...There’s no arguing with Ann when she’s got her mind set, no matter how trivial the matter. So instead of saying _I’d rather not, the outside world is trying to kill me faster than I can kill myself_ , he just nods.

Weakly, of course.

She leans over his cocoon and cracks open the blinds barely more than a centimeter. Hardly any light floods in--just enough to make the blue of Ann’s eyes shine, to make her skin look golden where the light is able to peek through--but it ignites panic in Ren’s gut anyways.

And of course, even if Ren thinks he’s the slickest motherfucker in town, Ann notices. Because she _always_ notices.

“Here,” she whispers, and then she’s loosening Ren’s sweat-cocoon enough to wrangle his (very sweaty, obviously) hand out, grasping it firmly in her own. “This okay?”

And it is. The weight of her hand in his steadies the breaths that were already beginning to speed up, mellows the churn in his stomach that Ren now knows is the tell-tale sign of a panic attack ready to fuck up his life. 

He nods and tries to smile, but it doesn’t feel convincing on his own face. “Thank you.”

Ann stretches her legs out and crosses her ankles, placing their interlocked fingers on her own stomach. “No problem.”

They’re silent for a long time like that, holding hands in the almost-darkness of Ren’s attic. Between the dancing blue of the TV and the golden sun peeking through the thin slivers of open space in the blinds, the room is bathed in blue-green. The colors filter through Ann’s eyes, bathes her skin, and somehow she’s still beautiful despite the mess and sickness and broken boy surrounding her.

“Almost over,” she says finally, swiping a thumb over the top of his hand. “You’ve almost made it out.”

Ren cocks a brow, but he hasn’t moved his face much recently so it feels more like a really shitty grimace. “What do you mean?”

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye before her gaze returns to the muted TV. “Today. And November in general. You’ve almost survived it, again.”

_Do I want to survive it?_

Ren says nothing, just unfurls himself a bit more from his cocoon. He’s free enough to stretch his aching legs, now, grunting at the strain of bones cracking and popping. Any longer in that position and he would’ve fucking atrophied.

“Today’s the worst for you though, isn’t it?”

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

She glances at him fully this time, raises a brow. “Don’t wanna talk about it?”

The answer is _I don't want to talk, I just want to die_ , but Ren isn’t sure how to say that in a way that wouldn’t send Ann into a concerned tailspin, so instead he just gives her a weak smile. “Would you believe me if I told you I was fine?”

Ann guffaws, _actually_ guffaws, and gestures vaguely around the filth-ridden room. “Try again, dummy.”

Ren tries to give her a smile but it feels languid, so he instead opts for staring at the TV, not really trying to actually _see_ what’s playing on the screen.

“Yeah, today’s the worst for me. This November’s been the worst yet.”

Which is the truth. He’d been able to hold it together at first, despite the panic in his gut anytime he did anything other than go downstairs for coffee, but his composure didn’t last very long at all. By the 5th he was a complete mess--jumping out of his skin anytime the bell on the door downstairs rang out, doubling over in panic attacks just from stepping foot into the bathhouse, and unable to hold down any food (and not wanting to eat, anyway). 

The worst moments are when sleep comes for him, though. He staves it off as long as possible--drinking frankly ridiculous amounts of coffee and keeping his eyes open through sheer willpower alone. But he’s only human, and after three days of forcing himself to _stay awake stay awake stay awake_ , he can’t help the slip-slide of his eyes screwing shut.

And then the night terrors come for him, and that’s when Ren wants to die the most.

_And I don’t know if I can survive another year of this. I don't know if I can survive another day of this. I don't think I can--_

Ann scoots a bit closer to him, gripping his hand tighter. She watches him carefully, like he might shatter if she looks at him with too much scrutiny, and he fucking _hates_ how weak he feels. “It’s like pulling teeth getting you to talk about your feelings, isn’t it?”

And there’s guilt that squirms around in the pit of Ren’s stomach, but it’s different than normal--there’s a vagueness to it, a source he can’t really pinpoint. He remembers feeling this a few other times, but there’s something about it so out of his grasp--like when something’s on the tip of your tongue but never comes to fruition. 

He tries his best to push it out. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she sighs, squirming just a bit to get the sweaty comforter away from her arm. “We just worry, is all. _I_ worry.” 

She pauses for a moment, looking like she wants to say something but unsure if she _should_.

But then that signature Ann brashness takes hold and she’s talking, anyways, seemingly despite herself. “It’s just that you've listened to all of us talk about our own traumas. We all owe you so much, and we _want_ to help, but we can’t unless you let us.” 

The blue lights dance along her face, making her eye color intensify. She takes her other hand, idly scratches the side of her head, and sighs. “It just feels like...I don’t know. It’s _your_ turn to not be okay. And it seems like you’ve been pushing us all away, pushing _your own feelings_ away for so long that they’re starting to suffocate you. And I hate seeing you like that.”

Ren just stares. Something feels...different. It’s like something fundamental is changing, but he can’t quite pinpoint what, can’t quite grasp _how_. Is it him? Is it _her_? Something bigger than this?

His head feels like it’s full of cotton and his vision feels like it’s processing his surroundings in half-time, and he really, _really_ doesn’t know what to say.

So he stays silent.

She looks like she's expecting something to be said in response, but when nothing comes emotion floods her face all at once--despair, helplessness, a brief flash of anger. The blue of the TV and the slivers of golden sun dance along her skin, bathing her in sickly green ice, the shadows of the blinds only serving to intensify her stare.

Ann sighs again and runs her fingers through her hair in that way she does when she’s frustrated. “We’ve tried to be patient, to wait for you to come to us, but at this rate it feels like it’s never gonna happen. And I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna sit here and do nothing while I watch another friend--”

She cuts herself off when her voice hitches, knocking her forehead with her knuckles and screwing her eyes tight to stop the pinprick of tears in her eyes. She breathes deeply--once, twice, three times. 

Ann doesn’t have to finish her sentence for him to understand what she means. He finds he’s disappointed in himself for not hiding his...ideations better, especially if they’ve caused his family distress.

And there’s that unknowable guilt again.

Ann breathes deep again, doing her best to compose herself, only continuing when her voice is even again. “We all put _so much_ pressure on you when we were the Thieves. No matter what happened, you held us all together, always staying strong and keeping the rest of us afloat even when your life was on the line.”

Then she’s shifting, resting her shoulder up against the wall and taking Ren’s hand in both of hers. Her eye contact is unwavering and intense, making Ren want to look _anywhere else_ but those eyes that _care_ and _worry_ and _love_ , and the guilt is stronger now, so much stronger.

“It wasn’t fair of us to put everything on you, and I could never apologize enough for that. But,” and now her eyes are glistening and wet, but she’s not screwing her eyes tight, anymore. Her tears sit on her lashes, never spilling, and Ren _knows_ she’s trying to be strong. “But you don’t have to be that anymore. You can _be_ vulnerable, and you can _be_ scared, and you can confront what happened to you. You can reach out for help, because we _want to_ help, because we _love you_.”

And then her stare is more intense than ever, framed in the glittering wetness of her tears, but there’s warmth there, _determination_ there.

Her voice breaks. “Please, let us help you carry this weight.”

There’s a long, _long_ silence as Ren stares back into Ann’s eyes, stunned. Something’s _snapped_ , changed inextricably, and Ren can’t help but feel that all pretense has flown out the fucking window.

He can tell she’s been wanting to say this for years, the way her tear-soaked eyes are full of determination and clarity. Hell, maybe _all_ his friends had wanted to say this, too, to shake him by the shoulders and scream it in his face until he _got it._

Something...clicks. A piece of a puzzle he didn’t even realize he’d been putting together slots into place with finality, and it feels _terrifying_. The guilt is stronger than ever, the familiar and the unknown lacing together into one big pile of _oh god oh god_ , and Ren’s head is fucking spinning. 

What Ann’s telling him...she’s right, isn't she? How long had she been holding in this truth, clinging to the hope _he’ll talk eventually, I know he will_? How long had she been wringing her hands in anxiety, praying Ren wouldn’t decide he’s _had it_ and take to the roof like Shiho? Did she know this whole time that Ren’s survival was hanging by a fucking thread, threatening to snap? 

Did she know that Ren was utterly, viscerally terrified of being known? Did she know that he was even more afraid of being a ghost to the ones he loves?

Had Ren known this whole time deep, deep down that he couldn’t be free until he confronted his trauma?

Up for debate, but there’s a _really_ convincing argument for _yes, dumbass_. 

It’s a bitter pill to swallow, and the guilt wells up with such intensity Ren almost feels like laughing.

Ann’s eyes go wide and worried. “Oh. Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so intense, I really wasn't planning on saying all that. I didn’t mean to make you--” and then she’s licking her thumb and reaching up to stroke Ren’s cheek, wiping away a tear Ren hadn’t even realized he’d shed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.”

Her voice is quiet, laced with guilt, and Ren feels so fucking _terrible_.

“Please don’t be,” he suddenly blurts out without even really meaning to, and his voice is wobbling. His eyes widen a bit at his own words, but they’re still spilling out anyways like they’d been trapped in his throat and looking for a way to escape. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve worried you all for so long and it’s unforgivable. All because I wanted to--”

Be strong? Be immovable? Invulnerable? To have no weakness? To be in control, when he’s never even felt like he’s had any? To not be a burden to the only people who love him, the only people who’ll have him?

To avoid the shame of being raw?

And there’s that guilt again, that _different_ guilt, worming its way into his heart. But now he recognizes it, he can _see_ it. 

And he can name it, too.

“I’m sorry I’ve pushed you all away for so long. I’m sorry I’ve been pushing away--” the word ‘trauma’ still feels icky, still makes his mouth feel like it’s full of metal and broken teeth.

Now he can feel the hot pricking of tears behind his lids and he scrubs them with his free hand. He sighs, shakes his head, squeezing Ann’s hands to gain the will to _keep talking_. Reboot. “It was inconsiderate of me to let you all worry so much. It...it hasn’t been fair.”

Ann’s eyes widen, glistening and wet. They stare at each other for a long, long time, trying to adjust to this...change--this new reality that’s unmistakably approaching, whether Ren wants it to or not.

Then she grins.

And then she’s laughing.

It’s a small laugh filled with relief, and then Ann’s taking one of her hands away to dab at the corners of her eyes, still smiling all the while. “Idiot,” she sighs, sniffling. “You don’t have to be sorry. Just let us be here, as much as we can.” 

She squeezes his hand so hard he thinks it might pop off, still grinning at him with that winning smile, all full of love and care. 

_I really, really don’t deserve this._

The guilt coursing through him is fucking unbearable, but Ren manages a smile that only looks a little bit forced. 

“I’ll try my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have an agenda called 'ren holds hands and is very physically affectionate with all of his friends even though he hates touching people' and yes it's bc im projecting :-)  
> this is the last chapter that deals with a lot of heavier stuff! so if my shitty navigation of depression n stuff is less than idel u don't have to deal with it any longer lmao  
> (as always all of the fucked up brain stuff is inspired directly by my own fucked up brain stuff YES im projecting NO im not a kinnie i swear)  
> (also also writing fiction at all let alone anything emotionally charged is super not in my wheelhouse so apologies)


	6. November 20th, 20XX+6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “May I ask another question? Hopefully a less intrusive one, this time.”
> 
> Ren leans against the bean counter, shoving his hands in his apron pockets and tilting his head. “Shoot.”
> 
> Makoto places her chopsticks on the plate, eyeing Ren carefully. “How are you feeling today?”
> 
> “You already asked me that, though,” Ren replies, confused.
> 
> “I did, but you didn’t answer,” she points out, the tone in her voice the classic I know what I’m talking about pitch she’s so fond of. “You told me how you were doing, not how you’re feeling.”
> 
> ~cw for mentions of suicidal ideation, panic attacks (brief, not too descriptive), flashbacks, very minor emetophobia~

November 20th, 4 P.M.

Brisk wind tears up and down the street like a cracking whip, the pinprick of cold rain acting as its kiss of pain. Across the street are a group of six high school kids, all huddling under two umbrellas and absolutely failing at staying dry. They shiver, staring sullenly down the gray street in that typical unimpressed teenaged fashion.

It’s hard to make fun of them, though--Ren forgot his own umbrella today, like a fucking boneheaded kid rather than a 23-year-old graduate student. There he was, shivering and dripping wet like a really sad looking cat, hunched under an awning, checking his phone obsessively for any sign of his ride like a kid waiting for his parents.

Kinda feels like it, too.

And then there’s the distant sound of water splashing, the roar of an engine, and then Makoto’s skidding in front of the curb, donned in her usual riding jacket and nuclear blue helmet.

She flips up her visor, and Ren can tell in her eyes that she’s smiling. “Hello there, stranger. Long time no see.”

Ren rolls his eyes, already approaching the bike. “We had a study date yesterday.”

“Practically been a century,” she counters, tossing him another helmet without so much as a warning. Thankfully, he’s used to this routine by now--catching the helmet in waiting hands is _much_ nicer than getting smacked in the face, anyways, despite how much Makoto pretends not to laugh when it happens.

Ren slips on the helmet--pink and purple with a grey tabby sticker on the side, _definitely_ the helmet she keeps for Haru--and straddles the bike, hooking his arms lightly around Makoto’s waist. “Spooning: Cool Lesbians Edition.”

Makoto rolls her eyes so hard it’s practically audible. “That joke wasn’t funny the first time you said it, let alone the five thousandth time.”

“Oh, I beg to differ. I’m _hilarious_.”

“We’ll agree to disagree.”

A cursory glance across the street reveals those same high school kids, still shivering and drenched in rain, but their cool-kid acts are completely dropped. Instead, they stand stock-still, jaws dropped, staring directly at Makoto’s bike.

Ren laughs a bit to himself and pokes her in the ribs. “Look over there. You’ve got some admirers.”

She turns her head a bit, looks them up and down, then sighs. “Kids always get the wrong idea about me when they see me on this.”

Then she’s revving her engine, the rain pooling around the tires rippling out violently in a fantastic display. Ren barely has time to hold on tight before Makoto’s speeding forward, taking her boots off the ground and performing a sharp U-turn.

“Stay in school!” She yells at the kids as they pass in a blur of color and motion. “Don’t do drugs!”

Ren’s wild, stupid laugh echos down the street as they speed away, the motorcycle’s tires parting through the water like a knife through butter.

Fifteen minutes later and the duo’s pulling to a stop on a curb a short stroll from Yongen. Five more minutes and they’re soaked head to toe, falling into the warmth of Leblanc with the intensity of a starving man stumbling along an oasis.

Well, Ren’s soaked to the bone, anyway. Makoto had the sense to own a water-resistant leather jacket and to bring an umbrella, “like a responsible adult,” she says.

Leblanc is empty when they arrive, the lights flickered off and the usual _drip drip_ of coffee absent. There’s a sign on the bar reading _Out for Lunch, Be Back Soon_. Not a lie, most likely--ever since Futaba got her technical degree and snagged a remote developer role, she and Sojiro had been having very frequent lunches, often centered around complaining about customers.

“Wait down here while I get less disgusting?”

Makoto waves him away, already shedding her own rain-slick jacket and sliding into a stool at the bar. “Go ahead.”

Ren trots up the stairs, peeling away his rain-soaked clothes in favor of something a bit dryer. The chill on his skin still lingers, and his curls are still an absolute mess of water-tangles and helmet hair, but throwing on a zip-up hoodie and jeans is just going to have to be enough for now.

He’s back downstairs in a blink, already tying an apron around his waist and grinning. “What’ll it be, ma’am?”

Makoto grimaces at the formality. “You don’t have to make me anything, Ren.”

She’d finally dropped honorifics a year ago, and hearing his name spoken plainly by her still sends a shock of surprise through him. He brushes it off, waving her away. “I _want_ to. Consider it a thank-you for picking me up.”

She hesitates, looking like she’s thinking for a moment, before offering up a small smile. “Got any Sagada?”

Ren raises a brow but turns around to scour through the bean hoppers, anyways. “Look at you, knowing your beans.”

He hears her chuckle lightly in response. “Yes, well, it was bound to happen eventually. Between you living in a coffee shop and having a girlfriend preparing to run her own, I’ve been forced to consume a lot more coffee than is really healthy.”

Ren just smiles at her in response, placing the beans on the counter and reaching underneath to pull out the Aeropress.

“You remember how I prefer it made,” she remarks, resting her chin in her folded hands. 

“Everyone’s preferences have been burned in my brain by now,” Ren says, loading the Sagada into the hand grinder. “Ann likes the French press and will _not_ drink anything else. Yusuke prefers pour-overs, Haru loves the Chemex, and Futaba just froths at the mouth until you give her _any_ coffee, regardless of how it’s made. Just does those grabby little gremlin hands until she’s caffeinated.”

“And Ryuji?”

Ren just stares at her. “Hot chocolate.”

“Ah.”

Then the beans are feeling smooth, so Ren empties them into the Aeropress, setting it over a mint-green mug. Sojiro’d forgotten to turn off the hot water tap near the brewers (which Ren is _absolutely_ going to give him shit for later), so he fills a small steel kettle with it, taking care not to touch the metal sides. “Thanks again for picking me up, Makoto. I really appreciate it. Can’t believe I lost my subway pass for the month.”

“Oh, no problem,” she replies, eyeing the way Ren quickly swirls the water into the Aeropress before stirring the slurry with a spoon and sliding the plunger in place. “How was it, by the way? Your appointment, I mean.” Then her eyes widen a little. “Only if you wanna share, of course.”

The tiniest burst of a familiar shame races up Ren’s spine, but he ignores it to the best of his ability, steeling himself. “Uh...Well, Dr. Sato fit me in today without much notice, and on a Saturday no less, so that’s nice.” 

Ren racks his brain for something more substantial, remembering his promise to Ann last year and all the goddamn _work_ he’s put in to be able to talk about this stuff. “She, uh...she knows today is hard for me, so we talked a bit more about that day. She’s really understanding.”

Thank fucking god for Takemi and her connections, who she swore was 'discrete' enough for the ex-Thief.

“I would hope so,” Makoto notes, eyes still trained on the Aeropress as Ren removes the plunger, swirls the slurry once more, and pushes the plunger all the way down, slowly, inch by inch. “She would be a poor therapist if she couldn’t be at least that much.”

Ren offers a small smile at that. “Yeah, probably. She _is_ really awesome, though.”

After last November, things got much, _much_ worse before they got better. Ren’s promise to Ann didn’t come to fruition for some time--November had come and gone, but the anxiety, nightmares, and lack of appetite stayed far past their welcome. More often than not, Ren laid up in his bed, awake for days on end, feeling like he was rotting from the inside out. 

Needless to say, the remainder of his senior year was quite precarious. He rarely if ever attended classes, barely passing any of his courses (and only passing thanks to Makoto doing all of his work for him). Baths were few and far between, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be wearing the same sweatpants upwards of a week. 

Numbness characterized his life, and when the numbness would finally leave him, all that was left was panic. Anytime the bell of Leblanc’s door chimed out, signaling a customer--anytime someone yelled too loud outside of his bedroom window--anytime he could no longer keep himself awake, succumbing to sleep and inevitably waking from a night terror--anytime he had no other choice but to leave the cafe, if even for a moment--panic struck with terrifying swiftness, doubling him over and shattering whatever safety he felt he’d crafted for himself.

In March, right before graduate school started, something snapped--a final break, _the_ final break, when Ren’d found himself visiting rooftops every time he’d leave the house--and Ren _knew_ he either had to die, or get help.

So he got help.

“Well, how have you been feeling today?” Makoto tilts her head a bit, red-brown eyes squinting in that way she does when she’s trying to be delicate. “You seem like you’re doing much better than last year.”

 _That_ Ren knew how to answer. He’d practiced this one in his head a few times, expecting his family to come around once again, concerned and asking for his status report.

He grins. “Well, I left the house today, so that’s an achievement. Wasn’t able to sleep last night, but I slept the night before with a pretty mild nightmare, so that’s better than normal. Also,” he points, smile widening, “I ate yakisoba for lunch and didn’t throw up, just gagged.”

“Oh, well now you’re just bragging.”

“Yeah, a bit,” he agrees. The hiss of the Aeropress rings out and Ren removes it from the mug, sliding the mint-green cup to Makoto. “Soy milk and honey, right?”

She runs her fingers through her pixie cut, tucking a flyaway strand behind her ear. “Correct.”

Ren reaches down to the small fridge underneath the counter holding the in-use milk when the chime of the bell rings out across the cafe followed by hurried steps, the call of _I’ll order in a second_ , and the slam of the bathroom door.

The voice is deep and gruff, unfamiliar, and when Ren rises back up to place the milk carton on the counter, there’s a distinct constricting feeling deep in his chest.

Oh. Shit.

The feeling starts to well up before Ren’s able to force it down--chest tightening, breath quickening, vision already starting to blur at the edges.

Not now, not now, not now, _not no--_

_electronic buzz and metal swings open. two men, hard-faced and cruel. they punch and hit and kick and choke, and everything’s dark, dark, then far too bright, brighter than the sun, and i can’t fucking breathe. electronic buzz and a woman’s there, hard-faced and cruel but she’s bright, bright, and she has to be salvation or i’m gonna die here. waiting for another electronic buzz, waiting for another boy, hard-faced and cruel. waiting for the swing of metal, the glint of steel, the smell of gunsmoke and blood, and dark, dark. is this blood mine? is this hole in my head mine? was my head ever mine to begin with? and i can’t breathe, i’m fading, i’m dying--_

A warm hand slips into Ren’s and jolts him away from his panic, his terror, if only for a second.

“I’m right here,” Makoto whispers, squeezing Ren’s fingers like a vice. “You’re okay. I’m right here, and nothing’s going to happen to you. I’ll protect you.”

Ren stares at her, expression completely vacant, the only noticeable signs of panic being the rapid rising and falling of his chest. He knows she’s there, can hear her, knows he’s looking directly at her, but everything is _bright_ and swimming.

His heart is beating out of his chest, hand going rigid in Makoto’s and eyes glazing over, but he’s still willing himself to fight. Words from this afternoon swirl around in his head, squeezing and stretching in between interrogation and lights and _i can’t breathe_ _i’m dying i can’t breathe_ , until Dr. Sato’s voice jumbles together a sentence that’s almost coherent.

_when panic and you have panic and hit and slap and punch and when you panic pinpricks of tears and needles and when you’re having a panic attack you can lights too bright and everything burns you can toes in my ribs and they crack you can get out of buzzing of the door and i’m going to die out of it by using sudden distraction_

And then Ren’s pouring half the carton of soy milk onto the hand clutching Makoto’s.

“Um,” says Makoto, pulling her hand back from the sticky wetness.

“Um,” says the man as he emerges from the bathroom, grumbling _nevermind_ before leaving the cafe entirely without ordering.

“Um,” says Ren, but his mind doesn’t feel so cluttered anymore--the interrogation room is gone, and instead replaced with _ew, what_?

Makoto just stares at him, holding her hand away from her like she has no control of it, milk sliding down her palm and dripping onto the counter. “So...I don’t want to be rude...but... _why_?”

“Distracting my brain,” is all Ren says before he’s diving under the counter to look for the bucket full of rags and disinfectant.

“And...did it...work?”

The edges of Ren’s vision are still a bit fuzzy, and he can feel the sweat starting to form on his lower back, but his breathing is slowing down and the interrogation room is _gone_.

He plops a rag onto the counter, beginning to soak up the mess, breathless. “I think...I think it did?”

“Well, I’m incredibly happy to hear it,” Makoto begins, “and I would love to talk to you more about it, but I _really_ need to go wash my hands now.”

“Understandable.”

By the time Makoto comes back the mess is already taken care of and Ren has filled a small saucer with milk and placed a plate of curry near Makoto’s seat as a way of apology. She thanks him before mixing in her milk and honey and taking a lengthy sip. “Perfect, as always.”

“You flatter me,” Ren tries to joke back, but he suddenly feels so, so tired.

She takes another sip of her coffee before setting it back down on the counter, fingers still delicately curled around the handle. “Wanna talk about what just happened?”

 _No, I don’t_ , Ren thinks, but already knows that answer isn’t an acceptable one. He’s been working hard to be better about that--another bit of Dr. Sato wisdom is that reaching out to friends and talking about your feelings is a _good_ thing, actually--but the rush of shame and guilt still hasn’t managed to subside, even though he’s been in therapy for months.

“Okay, sure,” he finds himself saying, regretting every syllable that falls from his lips. “Did you have any questions?”

Another piece of classic Sato wisdom--if you’re uncomfortable with spilling your guts to someone, it’s often easier to just answer the questions they ask rather than digging around your own feelings yourself and presenting them on a platter. Something about it being less overwhelming.

“I’m not sure,” Makoto sighs, running her pointer finger over the ridges in her mug. “You’ve never talked about that day with me before--or any of us, really. You’ve been trying really hard to tell us how you’re doing, but we don’t have a whole lot of context.” She glances up at him, takes a small sip of her coffee, and sighs. “Have you talked to Ryuji about it?”

Ren could fucking _laugh_ at that. Giving Ryuji a play-by-play of that day would be sure to bring out a few distinct reactions, one of which would be trying to smash the windows of the police station with a baseball bat, and Ren _really_ doesn’t need his boyfriend sitting in a jail cell. “Not in a ton of detail, no. Just enough so he’d understand.”

“Plus,” he continues, shrugging, “I feel like everyone pretty much already knows what happened, even if you don’t know every bit and piece. You all saw how fucked up I was after that.”

Makoto lowers her eyes, grimacing. “Yes, I recall.”

A flash of anger blazes through the red in Makoto’s eyes as the memory floods her mind, but only for a moment--then she’s taking her chopsticks in hand, delicately lifting the curry to her lips.

It strikes Ren that his response wasn’t exactly conducive to _try to talk about stuff with your friends_. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was really dismissive, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean to--”

“No, your right,” she insists, covering her mouth as she chews. “It’s not difficult to piece things together. Besides, it would be cruel to expect you to recount everything to us. If you prefer to keep that between yourself and your therapist, that’s completely understandable.”

And Ren really, _really_ does want to keep it like that, so he just gives her a small smile he hopes conveys his gratefulness.

“May I ask another question? Hopefully a less intrusive one, this time.”

Ren leans against the bean counter, shoving his hands in his apron pockets and tilting his head. “Shoot.”

Makoto places her chopsticks on the plate, eyeing Ren carefully. “How are you feeling today?”

“You already asked me that, though,” Ren replies, confused.

“I did, but you didn’t answer,” she points out, the tone in her voice the classic _I know what I’m talking about_ pitch she’s so fond of. “You told me how you were doing, not how you’re feeling.”

Oh.

Most of the time, it doesn’t feel like there’s much of a distinction--talking about how he’s coping makes him want to rip his skin off, too, so it’s easy to conflate the two.

But she’s right. The two are very, _very_ different, and even though both are hard for Ren to verbalize, one is _significantly_ more difficult.

“I...uh…”

Okay, not a great start.

Makoto’s still eyeing him carefully, that discerning twinkle present like never before. “Uh?”

“Sorry,” Ren rushes out, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m...still not very good at this part. I don’t have a lot of practice.”

She smiles at him, bringing the mug back to her lips. “That’s okay. Take your time.”

And so he does. An awkwardly long amount of time, in fact. He leans against the bean counter, racking his brain for the right words to say, all while trying to bury the guilt and shame welling in his chest. Makoto just watches him, working through her plate of curry.

“Anything?” she eventually asks once her plate is clean.

“I feel like shit,” he finally blurts out without thinking, and he can feel his face burning instantly.

Makoto cracks a smile. “It took you that long to produce that brilliant, absolutely _eloquent_ piece of reflection, huh?”

Ren covers his face with his hands, not wanting to look at Makoto and feel the double-shame of talking about his feelings and utterly failing at it. “Fuck, I suck so bad at this shit, dude. You know, one time Ryuji asked me how I felt about moving in together after I graduate next year and I panicked and asked him what moving was.”

“Oh my god.”

“I _know_ , it’s fucking horrible. And the thing is I _do_ want to do that, but talking about it in a way that frames my desires and feelings…” An involuntary shiver runs up his spine, and Ren’s suddenly overcome with the thought that he _may_ still retain some of Joker’s theatricality, after all. "Having desires and feelings is fucking embarrassing."

“You truly are both as brainless as each other.”

“Please be nice, I’m suffering.”

“Then _talk_ to me, Ren. Surely this is something your therapist has scolded you about more than once, considering how terrible you are at it.”

Ren thinks back to those first few sessions earlier this year, where he would turn beet-red anytime Dr. Sato asked him anything about what was going on in his head. Ren hates that Makoto’s always right.

He sighs, willing himself to remove his hands from his face. He’s been working _so hard_ to be better--so many sleepless nights practicing breathing techniques and attempting to reframe that day in his head. So many hours spent hyping himself up in the mirror, saying _you, sir, are gonna sit Ryuji down tonight and talk to him about your feelings, and he’s gonna be supportive, goddamn it_. So many days spent in his room, practicing desensitizing himself to the sounds that triggered him the most frequently.

 _So much_ hard work. Surely, _surely,_ Ren can have this simple talk.

Ren can’t meet her eyes when he finally opens his mouth, opting to stare at his scuffed boots. “I feel scared, I guess.” He musses the back of his hair, sinking his nails deep into his thick curls. “I’ve been doing a lot better today than last year, trying to distract myself and think positively, but there’s still a lot of...I don’t know. Anxiety and stress surrounding today, I guess. It sucks. I just want to be better.”

Shame, shame, shame.

Makoto just keeps her eyes trained on him, almost-empty coffee cup spinning idly in her hands. “From my perspective, it seems you _have_ gotten much better, especially when you consider the aftermath of last November.”

Something about her words fills Ren with pride, but he shakes his head nonetheless. “No, I don’t think I have. I’m just better at hiding it, I think. Distracting myself. I still feel like fucking garbage, and trust me, all I’ve wanted to do all day is run upstairs, turn off all the lights, and hyperventilate until I pass out.”

Oh. Oh, oh, oh, no.

That was a _lot_ more than he had _ever_ intended on saying. He sounds crazy, right? Like, that’s fucking bonkers. His feelings aren’t _normal_ , and it’s not her job to listen to them. He doesn’t _want_ her to listen to them. This burden isn’t hers to carry, and he should’ve just kept all that shit locked and hidden, deep do--

“Isn’t that a mark of progress, though?”

Makoto’s words snap Ren out of his spiraling thoughts and he meets her eyes for the first time since starting this conversation. “It...is?”

She shrugs noncommittally, but her expression reads as confident. “You might feel horrible, but you’re still able to function enough to leave the house and have a conversation with me. You ate today, _and_ you pulled yourself out of a panic attack single-handedly.”

She lifts her mug to her lips and drains the last bit of coffee from the bottom before setting the cup down with a satisfying _clink_. “Being able to distance yourself from this day, even marginally, seems to be a step in the right direction to me, especially when compared to how you reacted last year.”

Ren knows he probably looks stupid as all fuck as his eyes widen. “I...I didn’t think of it like that, honestly.”

Makoto grins at him. “Well, reframing your thoughts is a considerable part of your work with Dr. Sato, yes? You just have to practice.”

 _Practice_ , Ren thinks. With his fumbling through trying to verbalize his feelings, it seems he’s doing a lot of that today.

Ren pushes himself off of the bean counter to take Makoto’s mug and plate, both now empty except for stains. He brings them to the sink, rolls up his sleeves, and turns on the hot water. “Hey, Makoto?”

She tilts her head, chin resting in her palm. “Yes?”

Ren isn’t sure how to say this and _not_ feel unbelievable shame and guilt, so he pushes forward before his brain can catch up with his mouth and stop him. “It was nice talking to you about this. I...really appreciate you listening to me.” He thinks back to his first fumbling attempts and feels heat rise to his face, turning his head to focus completely on the dishes to not expose his own embarrassment. “And for your patience.”

At this Makoto just beams at him--wide and bright, uncharacteristic of her typical smaller, subdued smiles. “Anytime, Ren. I’m always here to listen.”

“I’m sorry I’m not very good at talking about this stuff.”

Makoto’s eyes twinkle as she leans forward on the bar, a conspiratory smile playing on her lips.

“Don’t worry. We can practice.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .........can you tell i'm a barista yet


	7. November 20th, 20XX+7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just thinking about today,” Ren finally answers, placing his cigarette between his fingers long enough to lift his bottle and take a swig. He sighs a satisfied ahh, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and places the cigarette back in between his lips. 
> 
> Ryuji looks like he’s waiting for Ren to continue, but when nothing else is said he looks down to his own feet, moving to lean his back against the railing and shove his hands in his hoodie pockets. “How are you feelin’ today?”
> 
> Ah. The million-yen question, isn’t it?
> 
> ~cw for mentions of suicidal ideation, very minor anxiety, blink-and-you'll-miss-it suicidal ideation~

For the first time in years, Ren awakes on November 20th feeling well-rested.

Well, relatively. Still, four hours of sleep and only a short, bland nightmare is leaps and bounds of improvement, and the sleep crusting his eyes is proof of that.

_Buzz._

Ren groans, not quite awake enough to entertain polite conversation, but lazily rummages underneath his pillow anyways to find his phone anyway. The position is a bit awkward--he’s lying on his back with his head on his pillow, so his arm is bent in a weird way at his elbow and wrist as he tries to wriggle his hand underneath his pillow without moving around too much--but he finds it, eventually.

_Buzz._

_Buzz._

_Buzz._

He cracks open an eye, the brightness of the screen searing his vision like he’s looking into the fucking sun. The group chat’s popping off, it seems, but _why_ this early in the mor--

Oh. It’s ten.

Wait.

_Shit, it’s ten._

Ren springs out of bed so fast Morgana practically goes flying, hissing and yelling, upended from his seemingly peaceful slumber. “What was _that_ for?!”

“Sorry. Late,” is all Ren says, quickly shimmying out of his nightclothes and scrambling to find acceptable ‘going-out’ pants. 

Morgana is more than a little miffed. “Late for _what_? Don’t be so reckless when waking me up, next time.”

Ren’s midway through buttoning up a flannel when he shoots Morgana an apologetic smile. “Brunch with everyone. Sorry, I forgot to mention it. Wanna come?”

Morgana looks like he thinks about it for a moment, irritation still dancing along his sleep-addled face before he just sinks back into the comforter, curling in on himself. “Just bring me back something good. And don’t forget to wear a jacket.”

Ren complies, promising a really good quiche or something. He throws on a zip-up hoodie, slips on some boots he hopes match, and plops down the stairs, still adjusting his sleeves.

“You’re being awfully loud for my customers down here,” Sojiro calls out, but landing on the lower floor reveals a completely empty cafe, save for the thick aroma of coffee and cigarettes.

“Apologies for disturbing your full house,” Ren says automatically, just like he does every morning. He approaches the bar and pats down his pockets. Phone? Check. Wallet? Check? Keys? Double-check.

“Want breakfast?” Sojiro’s leaned up against the bean counter, arms crossed and nursing a cigarette. His apron is completely clean--must be an incredibly slow day. “Just finished a new pot of curry.”

“No time,” Ren sighs, checking his wrist for a watch he’s not even wearing. “Already late to meet up with everyone.”

“Can I at least interest you in some coffee for the road? Subway’s full of assholes around this time, so you’ll need it.”

Ren grins sleepily, sliding into a bar stool. “You haven’t made me coffee since I moved back here when I was, like, 19. Getting sappy on me now that I’m leaving soon?”

Sojiro does a very convincing job of looking put out by the statement and just grumbles. “Oh, shut up. Now, what the hell do you want?”

“God, espresso, please,” Ren sighs. The tiredness in his brain hadn’t completely faded from the adrenaline jolt of _oh shit I’m late_ , and who’s out here trying to drink a full-ass coffee on the subway, anyways? “Kona, and a double, please.”

Sojiro looks him up and down before that signature smirk plays on his lips. “The way you’re looking right now, you need a triple.”

Ren just rolls his eyes and rests his elbow on the bar, propping his chin in his open palm. “Let me live. I barely slept.”

“Well, at least you slept at all.”

The beep of the buttons of the espresso machine rings out loud through the cafe, setting Ren’s teeth on edge. He recognizes that this might not be a great moment for him, something that could send him spiraling, and wills himself to breathe deep in advance. Loud sounds had always been a trigger, he noticed. Something about the door of the interrogation room? Or just the sheer volume that comes from the skin on skin contact from being smacked around?

He waits for the panic to coil itself in his stomach as he breathes deep.

He breathes.

Waits.

Breathes.

Waits.

Breathes.

...And no panic.

At least, nothing major. There’s only a small stirring of anxiety minor enough to be placated with deep breathing and grounding, remembering _I’m at Leblanc, not anywhere else, I’m totally safe, and I’m about to have really fucking good espresso._

And then it’s gone.

No small amount of pride surges through Ren. The only way he’s could describe how he feels is _on top of the fucking world_. He's gotten much better at that lately, pulling himself away from the edge before the edge is even in sight.

And it feels so, _so_ good.

“Job hunting still going well?”

Sojiro’s question snaps Ren out of his ecstatic state and he blinks, making sure he doesn’t have a too-goofy look on his face. “Uh, yeah, actually. I still have to sit in for my social work licensing exam and finish this year to get my graduate degree, but I have my second interview lined up with the ISSJ for a paid internship.” 

Ren smiles and runs his fingers through his hair. He really, _really_ never thought he’d get this far, _especially_ with his record. It almost doesn’t feel real.

Sojiro shoots Ren a smile back as the ancient espresso machine starts to rumble and slowly spit out the triple shot. “I’m glad to hear that, kid.” He reaches under the bar and grabs a small espresso cup (“a demitasse, dimwit,” Sojiro would say) before scratching at his little goofy beard. “And the apartment hunting with Sakamoto?”

Ren draws idle patterns on the varnish-slicked wood of the bar. “Well, we still have a lot of time before I graduate, so we’re only doing some cursory looks around. I’m kinda leaving it in his hands for the most part, since I still have to study for the license exam _and_ finals _and_ prepare for my last trimester. He has work, still, but he said he doesn’t mind.”

‘Doesn’t mind’ would be an understatement. The past three months of Ren’s life had consisted of late-night texts from Ryuji, all harboring links to _this super cute duplex, it’s so perfect for us, the next-door neighbors are all young cool people, look!_ Ryuji’s excitement to be living together was palpable--and very adorable.

Sojiro raises an eyebrow at that. “You’re not participating in something that important?”

“I trust him with it.”

He just shakes his head at that, but Ren can see the smile barely concealed on his lips. “Well...I’m glad you two got it all figured out, then.”

The espresso machine makes a long, low hum, and the dripping comes to a halt. Sojiro removes the demitasse and tops the triple with a dollop of whipped creme before sliding it across the bar. “All yours.”

Now it’s Ren’s turn to raise a brow. “I didn’t ask for a con panna, old man.” 

His tone is teasing and good-natured, so Sojiro just rolls his eyes playfully. “Let me spoil you for once, kid.”

“You really _are_ getting sappy with me.” Ren just lifts the little baby cup to his lips, closing his eyes so he can _really_ enjoy the taste. It’s creamy and bright with subtle notes of chocolate, far better than anything he could ever make himself.

Guess he still has lots to learn.

“You know,” Sojiro starts, and Ren cracks open an eye. Sojiro’s looking anywhere but Ren, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s...sheepish? “If apartment hunting gets to be too much, Sakamoto’s more than welcome to move into the attic, too. Rent-free, obviously.”

Ren’s face must be a horrible combination of teasing and sappiness and sheer love because Sojiro quickly forces his face to harden. “O-only if he pays his dues by working the cafe occasionally, of course.”

And then Ren is filled with something he hasn’t felt since he was a kid. He feels...really, _really_ appreciated, really, _really_ loved and taken care of. It makes him feel like his heart could burst.

“I love you, dad.”

It slips out of Ren’s mouth without him realizing it, only hearing his own words after Sojiro’s face turns beet-red with surprise. “Uh...I, uh--”

“I’m _really_ late,” Ren announces far too loudly and suddenly, and then he guzzles down the rest of his con panna like a dying man. He can _feel_ his face burning, already imagining the snarky comments Sojiro’s gonna hurl at him over the next _forever_.

“Thanks for the coffee, _bye_.” Ren bolts up out of his stool and practically sprints for the door, preparing for the slam and jingle of the bell and--no panic, okay, good.

It might be his imagination, but he’s pretty sure he hears Sojiro’s voice call out to him, small and quiet.

“I love you too.”

*

Sojiro _was_ right. Lots of assholes on the subway on a mid-morning Sunday. Mostly hungover college students coming back from one night stands (been there), grumpy old men complaining about the state of Tokyo (haven’t been there yet, but it’s only a matter of time), and parents out on shopping sprees with their rowdy, uncontrollable children (please, god, no).

Still, Ren’s subway ride to Kichijoji is pretty uneventful for the most part, other than getting to eavesdrop on what sounds like a _very_ heated phone conversation between a man and his girlfriend about...gardening? Hard to say.

 _And_ Ren doesn’t freak out being around so many people, other than a short burst of anxiety he can reason himself out of getting worse. So good things all around.

Soon enough he finds himself in front of a cozy white-brick cafe, the small building nestled in between a secondhand shop and vintage gaming store. The small blackboard that stands in front of the door reads _Cafe Noir_ in soft pink chalk--a little way to pay tribute to their thievin’ days, Haru says. A sign hangs on the door reading _Closed until noon today <3_, and Ren smiles. Of course she would clear out the cafe so she could see her family.

A little bell chimes when Ren swings the door open, light and tinkling. The cafe is gorgeous yet understated, much like Haru herself--deep, plush couches sit in a ring to the right of the cafe, a small bookshelf nestled in the corner nearby. The bar is on the right side of the room, a dark, beautiful cherry-wood holding state-of-the-art espresso machines and milk frothers, as well as a small glass case showcasing pastries and sandwiches. The whole cafe is adorned with greenery--hanging plants dot the ceiling as frequently as light fixtures, and a little succulent sits in the middle of every table.

And then, on the right side of the room there are small tables to study at, all of which have been pushed together in a messy fashion--

Oh, god.

It seems like his family’s already made a mess of Haru’s cafe without him, judging by the sheer amount of sugar packets ripped open on the tables and the not-so-quiet bickering coming from Yusuke and Futaba.

Thank god the cafe is empty, for Haru’s business’ sake.

“Sorry I’m late,” Ren calls out, causing the group to snap to attention.

Ann gives him a stunning smile and waves him over. “Get over here, loser. We already started without you.”

Ren can’t help but smile as he drops into a seat between Ryuji and Ann, Ryuji instinctively taking Ren’s hand under the table. “You stay up all night or somethin’? Lookin’ a little rough,” he says playfully, moving to give Ren a peck.

“Please _do not_ ,” Ren groans, poking Ryuji in the cheek. “I’m 90% sure I forgot to brush my teeth. I got dressed in, like, 2 and a half minutes.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot about us,” Makoto half-scolds, half-teases, eyebrows quirking. She has an iced coffee set in front of her, despite the fact it’s _fucking November_. “ _You’re_ the one who planned this, after all.”

And he had. Dr. Sato insisted that surrounding himself with loved ones on the tougher days was absolutely crucial to keeping safe and stable, and she had an infuriating tendency to be right about everything. So, brunch.

“Yeah,” Futaba adds on, orange hair mussed like _she_ just woke up, too. “If you’re gonna make me leave the house and put on real people clothes, at least warn a girl you’re gonna be late so I can spend more time in my warm cocoon.”

Yusuke furrows his brows, setting down his own mug of...tea, it looks like? “But you’re not a caterpillar?”

"I'm _late_ ," Ren interrupts, wanting to end this tangent before it gets rolling, "because I slept in."

The reaction he gets is expected.

"You actually managed to sleep?" Ann asks, mouth slightly agape. 

"I'm so glad to hear it, Ren-kun!" Haru swoops in suddenly from behind the bar, her ruffly pink apron covered in coffee stains and flour. "This is the first time in many years, no?"

 _How did I not see her before?_ Ren thinks, but brushes it off. Haru could be a sneaky one when she wanted to--it wasn't too uncommon for her to have some trick up her sleeve.

“Yep, first time in..I don’t know, 4 or 5 years or so? Got four whole hours worth, too, so basically I’m a god now.”

“Any nightmares?” Just like Makoto to get down to the meat of things.

“Just one, and it was weak as fuck. It’s almost like my brain isn’t trying to kill me anymore, or is at least getting a lot worse at it.”

Ren feels Ryuji squeeze his hand under the table--a warning. Right, right right. He’d forgotten about the ‘no jokes about dying or killing yourself’ rule Dr. Sato had implemented a while back. Super helpful for ideations--still tricky to get used to, though.

“Cool, dude, you totally leveled up,” Futaba congratulates, tinkering with her tiny espresso cup. There are three empty ones surrounding her, as well as the steaming mug of black coffee set to her side. Oh boy. “Sleep’s overrated, though.”

Futaba lets out a little yelp when Makoto not-so-subtly kicks her underneath the table. “ _Anyways_ , we’re all very happy to hear that you were actually able to rest. That’s no small improvement, you know.”

Ann pats Ren on the shoulder, a bit forceful from excitement. “I say you deserve a crepe for that.”

Haru’s already gone the moment she hears the word _crepe_ , whisking away behind the bar and through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

“You just want a crepe yourself,” Ryuji deadpans, leaning over Ren to shoot her a look. “Lyin’ ass.”

Ann only turns a bit red, indignation already clear in her expression. “What, is it a crime? Only natural the rest of us would have some, too.”

“Ren is more of a waffle type of man, is he not?” Yusuke asks to nobody in particular, sipping leisurely from his mug.

“What, like that old shitty meme?” Futaba inquires, a horrible little gremlin grin already forming on her smug little face. “Ya know. _Do you like_ \--”

“Futaba, _no_.”

“ _Yes, I like--_ ”

“It’s too early for you to be such a menace.”

“Makoto, why did you let her have so much coffee?”

“I didn’t! Haru kept sneaking her espresso when I wasn’t looking. Plus, Futaba’s an adult now, and I’m not her mother.”

“Futaba’s _barely_ an adult. I saw her eat four melon breads in a row once and she called it dinner.”

“Oh, she’s more of an adult than you, Sakamoto.”

“ _Sakamoto_?! The hell you being all formal for?!”

The conversation grows cacophonous and hard-to-follow far too quickly, as is custom when they all sit in the same room for more than ten minutes, but all Ren can really do is sit back in his chair and smile. 

He really, _really_ loves his stupid little family so much.

Haru’s back relatively quickly, a large tray in her hands adorned with baskets of bagels, donuts, mini quiches, and, obviously, a crepe or two for Ann. “Hope you all don’t mind bakery items for brunch today.” The sound of her soft voice and the smell of fresh bread makes the bickering stop instantaneously, everyone’s faces lighting up at her return.

Ren swears Haru has superpowers or something.

She takes her place at the head of the table, pulling another chair from the other side of the room to settle in. She places the tray in the middle of the tables all bunched together and grins. “Go ahead.”

Futaba’s already reaching into the stack of donuts before the tray is even set down completely, _heh-heh-heh_ -ing when she snags the biggest chocolate-filled one.

Everyone else takes their turn, for the most part. Yusuke decides on the most beautifully frosted donut, while Ann descends on a strawberry crepe like a starving man--basically, exactly what anyone would expect.

“You’ve really done an awesome job with this place, Haru,” Ryuji compliments, covering his mouth to make talking with his mouth full of bagel less rude. He swallows thickly and shoots her a friendly smile. “You know, if you ever need any help with the place, I’d totally drop by and do whatever you need.”

Haru’s cheeks turn a bit red and she averts her eyes, though a big grin worms it’s way onto her face--she’s still so embarrassed by praise, even all these years later. “Oh, thank you. Admittedly, I could use the help of someone I trust. I would hate to impose, though. I know how busy you are with work.”

Ryuji waves her away and leans back in his chair dangerously far. Classic bisexual _I can’t even sit straight_ nonsense. “Track season’s almost over anyway. I’ll have more free time once the kids are just drillin’, so I can totally come by and lend a hand.”

“Me, too!” Ann joins in with a smile, leaning forward on her elbows. “Maybe I could set up a shoot here, too. For exposure and all that.”

“And once my gallery is finished, I would love to help you however you may need, dear friend,” Yusuke supplies, his steaming mug gripped in spindly fingers.

Haru’s blushing in full now. “I..uh…I’m very grateful for the offers, but I could never ask you to do all that--”

“Please don’t break my girlfriend,” Makoto sighs, noticing Haru’s fidgeting and beet-red face. 

“Oh, but she’s so cute like this,” Futaba cackles. 

“No more donuts for any of you until you stop embarrassing her.”

“Okay, _okay_ , okay.”

Haru’s face is still lobster-colored, but Makoto makes a point to move the conversation along for good measure, rambling off something about a recent case she worked on with her sister. Something about money laundering? Ren’s unsure--he typically tunes out when Makoto starts talking about police work due to, you know, despising the police. Too many bad experiences.

More power to her for wanting to change the system from the inside. Ren’ll just be over there, doing social work to protect citizens from a police state, thank you very much.

“--there was this huge helicopter crash, with hostages and everything. I had to scale a skyscraper without equipment to be able to get close enough to rescue them. Got out by the skin of my teeth--”

Ren’s ears perk up somewhere between _helicopter crash_ and _scaling a skyscraper without equipment_ and he shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m not,” Makoto deadpans, iced coffee lifted to her lips. “I could just tell you weren’t paying attention.”

“Not really sure how you fall into that one every time, Ren,” Ann sighs, cutting into her third crepe--most likely to be the one to finally make her stomach burst. 

Futaba chortles. “Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be smart or something?”

“I’m glad I could trick you into thinking that.”

“Quiet, Dean’s List,” Ryuji mumbles, frowning. “You don’t get to appropriate the struggles of the truly dumb. Totally not fair.”

“You can have book smarts and still be brainless,” Makoto argues.

Ren cracks her a tired smile. “Thanks for sticking up for me, Makoto.”

“Anytime.”

*

10PM.

The night air is brisk and wet, a precursor to snowfall sure to come in a week or two. However, the sky is completely cloudless tonight, the moon shining down with a trained eye on a particularly rowdy group of young adults.

Everyone’s on the roof of Yusuke, Haru, and Makoto’s apartment complex, a whole 40 stories towering over the edge of Shibuya. Drinks had changed hands, cigarettes hung from lips ( _sorry, Makoto_ , Ren apologized, though her frown didn’t dissipate for some time), and something of a game was being played in the distance. Ren wasn’t particularly sure what--instead he stood by himself, leaned against the railing of the rooftop, eyes trained down, down, down.

Something about this feels like a test, in a strange way. Something had seemed so attractive about hitting the ground a few years ago--hell, on bad days, sometimes it still did. But rather than comfort or longing like he normally feels, Ren feels nothing at all.

Is this improvement?

This high up the wind blows wildly, making his mop-top of waves whip around in no discernable pattern. He leans forward on his forearms, cigarette dangling from his lips and a beer pinched between two fingers in a way that could really not be stable at all. He thinks about dropping it for a second, just to see what the descent would be like, to see how far down it would go before he’d lose sight of it--

“You good?”

Then Ryuji’s next to him, cocking a brow. He leans on his elbows, facing the roof so as not to look at the drop down--never been a fan of heights.

Tinkling laughter comes from the other side of the roof--it seems Yusuke lost whatever game they were playing and they were discussing his punishment, no doubt to be something humiliating if Futaba had anything to do with it.

Ren takes a deep breath, inhales smoke deep into his lungs and holds it there. “I don’t want to jump, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He blows out the smoke, watching it get swept away on the wind. He has half a mind to offer a drag to Ryuji but decides against it--runner’s lungs and all that.

Ryuji cocks his head and looks at him carefully. “It wasn’t. You just look like you have something on your mind.” He cracks a little smile. “Glad to hear that, though. Be a pain in the ass to scrape you off the sidewalk.

Ren snorts at that, shaking his head. A few months ago that joke might’ve not been so funny, and Ryuji definitely wouldn’t have told it, either. Too close to home, too real. But he feels far enough removed from that line of thinking, somehow, despite the day. Weird how that works sometimes.

“Just thinking about today,” Ren finally answers, placing his cigarette between his fingers long enough to lift his bottle and take a swig. He sighs a satisfied _ahh_ , wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and places the cigarette back in between his lips. 

Ryuji looks like he’s waiting for Ren to continue, but when nothing else is said he looks down to his own feet, moving to lean his back against the railing and shove his hands in his hoodie pockets. “How are you feelin’ today?”

Ah. The million-yen question, isn’t it?

This feels like another test, somehow, and the guilt and shame are already coiling themselves deep in Ren’s stomach.

Ren ignores it and beams at Ryuji. “I’m proud to announce that I feel fucking terrible.”

Ryuji looks at him for a moment, then two, then three, absolutely dumbfounded. 

And then he’s laughing, doubling over with his hands on his stomach. “Shit, I’m glad you’re honest, at least,” he chokes out, shaking his head.

Ren grins at him and rolls his eyes. “I’m okay, though, I swear. No flashbacks, no panic attacks. It’s the best November 20th I’ve had in years.”

Ryuji wipes away a small tear pricking his right eye as his laughter dies a bit, replaced only by a small chuckle. He reaches over, snatches the cigarette from Ren’s lips (receiving quite the pout about it), and places it in between his own. “But you still feel weird, huh.”

It’s not really a question.

Ren sighs and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah. I just…”

The guilt is stronger now, so strong Ren can’t ignore it. It curls around in his stomach, reaches up into his chest, squeezes his heart like a fucking vice.

_This isn’t his job, this isn’t his job, this isn’t his job--_

_Fuck you_ , Ren thinks.

“I just don’t know if I’m ever gonna feel completely okay,” Ren confesses, and he can feel his face burning. Still, he continues. “I feel like this year is better, but I’m scared this is a one-time thing. I mean, I’m still scared _in general_. I think I’m just managing it better than before, but I really don’t know how long it can last.”

Ryuji watches him carefully, flicking the ash from the cigarette and taking another drag. “Didn’t realize you were afraid today. I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

Ren shakes his head. “No, don’t be. Being around everyone really helped me ground myself, so it’s mostly an inner turmoil kinda thing. Even forgot about it a few times today.”

Smoke pushes itself past Ryuji’s lips and he holds the cigarette out to Ren. He takes it, immediately taking a long, deep drag to suffocate the guilt still climbing its way through his chest.

Inhale, hold, exhale.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re doing amazing.” Ryuji cracks a smile, a big, giant, classic Ryuji cheeser. Even after all this time, it still makes butterflies dance in Ren’s stomach. “You’ve worked real hard to be where you are now, and I’m crazy proud of you for coming so far. You have no idea how proud I am.”

Something wells up inside Ren with indescribable intensity, and all at once he’s crying.

Oh, that’s embarrassing.

“Oh, shit,” Ryuji murmurs, scooting closer as Ren wipes at his eyes. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean--”

“No, stupid,” Ren laughs, and it occurs to him that he’s very, very drunk. “I’m just...really happy. And drunk. But mostly happy.”

Confusion washes over Ryuji’s face for a split second before he’s grinning all over again. “So drunk you’re happy crying, huh? Turning into Ann on me?”

“I just feel really loved today,” Ren continues, and _oh my god he really is turning into Ann_. “Sojiro was super nice to me today and I called him dad and it was super embarrassing, and then everyone was so nice and supportive at brunch, and you’re really cute and I love you so--”

“Hold on, hold on,” Ryuji laughs, clapping a hand on Ren’s shoulder. “That’s a lot to unpack at once. Okay wait, you called him _dad_? He’s literally never gonna let you live it down.”

Ren’s still sniffling as he rubs at his eyes. “He said you could move into the attic and then I told him I loved him, and I got so embarrassed I literally ran away--”

“Woah, wait, for real?!”

“Hey, gayboys!” Futaba calls out, startling both of them. She’s sat in the circle of lawn chairs, a bottle of Shochu hanging between her fingers. “Quit _yelling_ and get over here. We’re about to play a new game I invented called _Let’s Make Yusuke Suffer._ ”

“I do _not_ want to play that,” Yusuke argues, and then they’re bickering, loudly and predictably.

“Come on, losers,” Ann calls, waving them over. She’s not in happy-tears yet, so she must still be pretty sober. “You’re missing all the fun. Plus, Haru’s nose is all red from the cold and she looks really cute!”

“It does look cute,” Haru confirms, which means she’s at least five beers in by now.

Ryuji glances at Ren, shoots him a grin, and grabs his hand. “We can talk about all this later. Let’s not keep ‘em waiting, yeah?”

Then he’s whisked into a lawn chair of his own, huddled up close enough to Ryuji to feel his body heat even through the chill of the night. Fingers lace together and rest on Ryuji’s knee, the not-so-bad-anymore one.

The lights of Shibuya blink out any stars that could be watching their little family, but Ren likes to imagine they’re there anyway, twinkling despite the smog and light pollution choking them out. The brisk wind blows all their hair around haphazardly--Futaba’s long strands get caught in her mouth more than once--but the chill just makes Ren feel present. _Alive_.

Glancing around the group, he could almost start crying again. They’re all so _weird_ , and _loud_ , and definitely not made for this world at all. But they’re here together, protecting and loving each other so fiercely that it doesn’t even matter the world doesn’t want them.

And for the first time in many years, Ren feels safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi it's over now :-)
> 
> i'm uhhhhh not the greatest writer obviously and writing emotional stuff or uh. conclusions. is definitely something i struggle with, but i had fun doin it anyways!!!
> 
> this fic is def for the target audience of me, but im glad i did it anyways. i based ren's journey thru trauma on my own journey with my own trauma, and left him in a place i'm hoping i can be in too one day :-)
> 
> anyways, if you read this far thanks so much for doing so. love you bye <3


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